


though our paths diverge (I travel with you)

by robotsdance



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, F/M, canon divergence starting in season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance
Summary: For a moment it's almost like Jaime is Brienne, out in the wilderness, on her horse with Podrick beside her.It must have been his imagination, he rationalizes as he opens his eyes where he lies soundly in his own bed. He had been thinking of Brienne and had been almost asleep. He must have dozed off and dreamed of her. That’s all. It was nothing. Nothing at all.Jaime puts it from his mind.But it happens again.Intermittent Body Swapping/ Freaky Friday AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always write authors notes that are variations of "I have no excuse for this" and usually I delete them but in this case I feel the need to make it clear that I have no excuse for this. This was supposed to a five minute prompt fill. Instead I have 26000 words of body switching fic I have to edit?
> 
> Warning for past Cersei/Jaime that is toxic and abusive and still deteriorating throughout the early chapters of this.
> 
> Also general warning for the consent issues innate in involuntary, unexplained, uncontrollable bodyswap scenarios. Jaime and Brienne are doing their best to navigate everything, but they do not get to choose to start switching bodies or when it happens, and body switching has a very literal element of someone having to make decisions about someone else's actions and body without them being there to consent. (Which if you clicked on bodyswap fic I assume you are aware this will contain body swapping, but just so we're clear: this contains so. much. body swapping.)

After Jaime has sent Brienne to find Sansa Stark, his thoughts go to Brienne more often than one might think, but it is of no matter. It is nothing at all. He tells himself this often, even more often as he lies in bed waiting for sleep to claim him, and tonight is no different.

Tonight is no different until it is.

For a moment it is almost like he is Brienne, out in the wilderness, on her horse with Podrick beside her.

It must have been Jaime’s imagination, he rationalizes as he opens his eyes where he lies soundly in his own bed. He had been thinking of Brienne and had been almost asleep. He must have dozed off and dreamed of her. That’s all. It was nothing. Nothing at all.

Jaime puts it from his mind.

*

Except it happens again.

He is awake this time. Definitely awake. Undeniably awake. He is in his room, changing the bandage on his wrist and suddenly he is _not_.

He is on the edge of a forest and he looks down at himself. At his hands. Plural. He has two hands. Oathkeeper is strapped to his hip.

The next instant Jaime is back in his room.

*

It happens again. One moment Jaime is in the throne room standing guard, and the next he is on a horse. He leaps from the horse he is on and manages to run to the edge of the nearby pond to look into the surface.

He just has time to see Brienne’s face reflecting back at him before he’s back. He’s standing exactly where he was. He hasn’t moved an inch. Not an inch.

*

Jaime tries not to think about it too much. He has no idea what is causing it, no idea what is happening, except that it is. It is. He’s sure it is. And even if it is not, he can’t stop it. So it’s best if he doesn’t think about it too much.

And it doesn’t happen that often. Not very often at all. Sometimes moons on end will pass before he finds himself looking through Brienne’s eyes once again. And when it happens it is never for more than the span of five or ten heartbeats. Just long enough to get his bearings, to look around, to look down at his hand and see both of hers instead.

Then he’s back in his body like nothing happened, right where he left himself just a few moments before.

It relieves him to no end to know she is alive and well. Every time he finds himself in her body, Brienne is alive and well. Thank the gods.

And even though Jaime is trying very hard not to think about it, he wonders what Brienne thinks of these strange moments between them. What does she think when she finds herself in his body, as he is in hers? What does she think of the extraordinary circumstances they experience but can not explain?

But then he thinks he doesn’t want to know what she thinks of where he stands today.

*

Tonight he’s in her body for almost no time at all, but the experience lingers long after he has returned to himself.

Brienne had been sitting watch. That’s all she was doing, sitting against a tree, awake in the night, but she was full of such an immense sense of injustice. Righteous anger. Purpose.

Things are _wrong_ and Brienne is going to make them _right_. And she knows this. Her body knows this truth as well as it knows the necessity of breathing, of her beating heart.

Jaime lies awake long after he has left Brienne to finish her watch. It has been a long time since Jaime felt any of those things at all, much less all at once. And with such intensity.

The stories of knights of old, the ones on the most important quests, always made Jaime yearn for that purpose when he was a boy. But when was the last time Jaime actually felt like that?

*

Today Jaime’s first breath when he appears in Brienne’s body without warning is a pained gasp.

Brienne is hurt.

Brienne is _hurt_.

She’s still standing, still walking, but her pain is everywhere as Jaime desperately tries to take stock of how dire the situation is. As far as he can tell she’s not bleeding from anywhere critical, her head is pounding, at least one rib is cracked or broken, her leg is—

He’s back in his body, her pain no longer overwhelming his senses, but he thinks of her well-being and little else until the next time he finds himself inhabiting her body. He’s only her for a brief moment, but a brief moment is all he needs to learn what he needs to know:

Brienne is alive.

Still a little sore, but alive.

Thank the gods.

*

It happens again, not too long after. It is almost midday and he is on a ship, sailing for Dorne and then he is with Podrick, who is looking at him (at Brienne) like she just stopped talking mid-sentence and Jaime is lost as to what to do but he’s spared having to figure it out because a heartbeat later he’s back on the ship and himself once again and he has other things to occupy his mind for the time being.

*

It doesn’t happen again for a while, a long while, not until he’s back in King’s Landing. Not until he’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing.

But he hadn’t.

Because just like that he’s her again.

Jaime snaps back into his body and has to stop himself from exclaiming out loud. He was only Brienne for an instant, not more than three heartbeats at most, but the person beside her, he was there long enough to look over at the young woman Brienne was with.

Sansa.

Sansa Stark.

Brienne found her. Brienne is with her.

Jaime smiles. It has been a long time since he had reason to smile.

Oathkeeper indeed.

*

Jaime gets only a few glimpses through Brienne’s eyes over the next little while. Never for very long. Never in such a way that lets him get a full idea of what she is doing.

They are reassuring nonetheless.

*

Jaime hasn’t been Brienne since he was dismissed from the Kingsguard and sent off to Riverrun. He thinks of her often as he rides North. He thinks of her often but does not get to see the world through her eyes. It was never a frequent occurrence, but it has been a long time.

He is trying not to worry.

He is failing.

*

Brienne is Brienne. Precisely and exactly Brienne as she stands in front of him and tells him her plan to reason with the Blackfish.

Nothing about her expression betrays that she has spent a few strange moments looking out at the world from behind his eyes since they last saw each other. He longs to ask her, to know if those moments were as welcome to her as they were to him. Those brief glimpses that let him know she was still alive. That she was all right. Somehow, she was all right.

An unsettling thought strikes him as their conversation continues and does not address the unexplainable scenario they have found themselves in: maybe it’s not happening in reverse. Maybe she doesn’t live in his body in those brief moments he finds himself in hers. And if that is the case… If that is the case and he says something now, about how he happened to inhabit her body for a few moments several moons ago while she was building a fire, how he was in her body while she was traveling with Podrick, and on a handful of other baffling occasions… If he says something about it and she has no idea what he’s talking about well, he’ll sound crazier than he already feels.

So he won’t say anything about it. Just as Brienne isn’t saying anything about it. If she even has anything to say about this strange thing that is happening at all.

Brienne, oh Brienne. He has missed her terribly. He has missed everything about her.

She tries to give him Oathkeeper back and Jaime puts a stop to that at once.

The sword is hers.

It will always be hers.

And perhaps Brienne understands the weight of that because there is an undercurrent of something deeper when she addresses the fact that they will be honour-bound to fight should her plan fail.

Gods he hopes it doesn’t come to that.

He’s watching her walk away from him, watching her walk towards Podrick when it happens.

One moment Jaime is at the entrance of his tent and the next he is standing next to Podrick as the squire says something that doesn’t quite register but that definitely ends with “My Lady”. Jaime clenches his hands. Both of them. He is in a body that has two hands.

Jaime spins around to look back at the tent where he was just standing. Is still standing.

Jaime Lannister is standing at the entrance of his tent and the look on his face. The _look _on his _face._

Brienne is unmistakably looking out from behind his eyes. Wide-eyed with shock but he can tell. He can just tell by the way she’s inhabiting his body and looking at him inhabiting hers that this is not the first time she’s experiencing this either.

“My Lady?” Podrick questions and Jaime does not know what to do. He knows what he wants to do. He wants to run towards her, towards his body that Brienne is currently in and get back in the tent so they can discuss this matter privately because he wants to ask her everything about everything.

But before he can do anything at all he’s back in his body looking at Brienne being back in hers and she’s looking at him and whatever silent conversation is passing between them in this moment is muddled and intense and Jaime has no idea what’s going on between them.

He takes a step forward but Brienne is already turning to leave and Jaime is so stunned he just stands and watches her go.

But now he knows that she knows.

And it’s happening to her too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the first chapter of this because I knew it would make me actually finish the rest of it and my plan succeeded, so I'm posting the rest of it in one go. 
> 
> Content warning for Cersei/Jaime being abusive and full of consent issues, as well as for body swapping occurring at inconvenient, intimate, horrifying, etc, times.

It happens again not too long after. Sooner than it has ever happened before. Not two days have passed since he saw Brienne in that boat. Jaime had been drafting a raven to send back to King’s Landing, saying that he will be on his way back soon, when it happened. She and Podrick are travelling North, that much is clear. Jaime walks in her boots for a few steps as Podrick follows. It seems Pod and Brienne were not mid-conversation because the boy is not at all surprised by Brienne’s silence.

Jaime is back in his body in almost no time at all. He should have counted, he realizes too late. He should try and keep track of how long, how often…

There’s a message in front of him that wasn’t there when he left.

Jaime grins.

Brienne’s left-handed script is abysmal. Absolutely abysmal. Far worse than his. His first thought is to save the bit of parchment to remind her in the future. His second is to regret he will not be able to give a helpful answer to her inquiry:

_Do you know why this is happening?_

*

He has so many things to tell her. None of them are answers to her question, the question he shares, but all of them are important. Because this is a thing that is happening to them and he needs her to know. He needs her to know that he will never do anything to harm her, will never do anything she would not do, that he will always be like her, to the best of his ability, in those short moments when he is her.

But all he manages to trace into a patch of fresh snow before he returns to his body is:

_No._

and then under it:

_Brienne I swear I will never_

*

Jaime spends the next few days planning his strategy for what he will write as he leads his forces back south. It all depends on when it happens and how long he will have.

Luck is not with him because the next time he is Brienne it is raining and Podrick is talking and there’s no way, there’s no way to stop and find something to write with, to find something to write on.

Jaime returns to his body and is not where he last was, but he has not gone far. His traveling companions are visible to his left, through the trees.

It’s obvious what excuse Brienne made to remove him from their company.

It’s also obvious why she did so.

There’s a stick in his hand, a message scratched into the ground at his feet:

_I trust you_

*

The next time he finds himself in her body he is able to return her message

_I trust you too._

And somehow that’s it.

That’s enough.

Whatever is happening to them, this is the plan, this is the vow they have made to each other.

_I trust you._

*

There is no predicting it. No pattern he can discern, just that it is happening more frequently than it used to.

More frequently, and for longer.

*

Brienne and Pod are just making their way to an inn when Jaime arrives in her body with the usual complete lack of warning. He was just eating his supper and now he’s Brienne. A notably hungry Brienne who is about to get some food Jaime hopes. But hunger isn’t the only thing Jaime is feeling in abundance as he reaches the door. There’s a weary sort of dread somewhere deep in the pit of Brienne’s stomach that he doesn’t understand until he sets foot inside.

Within moments of entering it seems every man has looked at her in ways that make Jaime want to slap some manners into all of them.

Jaime has had a lifetime of being on the receiving end of hate enough to know exactly what it looks and feels like. But he… Jaime Lannister has done things to earn the scorn of the masses. Brienne has not. She’s big and tall and armoured and a woman. But that is enough. They hate her. They don’t know a thing about her beyond what they saw at a glance and they hate her.

Then Jaime is back in his body looking down at his supper. He finds he has lost his appetite.

*

If someone had told him, before, before any of this had happened, that a time would come when he would find himself inhabiting another’s body. That he would exist, as Jaime, in the body of another, he wouldn’t have believed them. He wouldn’t have believed them because it would have been the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard.

But besides that, after he’d dismissed the suggestion as the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard, he would have thought about it and come to the conclusion that it could only mean Cersei. If there was anyone he would experience such a thing with, it would be Cersei. That much would have been obvious to him.

But now that it’s happening, Cersei does not feel like the obvious person for him to switch with.

*

It becomes almost routine. At some point he will be Brienne for a little while. It still doesn’t happen very often, every few days at most, sometimes less frequently. He still doesn’t put much thought into the how or the why. There is no one to ask. No one to answer.

It is happening. It is happening to both of them. That is what matters.

*

The next time it happens it is the middle of the night. Jaime is lying awake, as he often does. Sleep does not come easy anymore. Brienne is awake too. As soon as he is in her body he can feel her weariness, the soreness in her muscles, in her bones, but she is not asleep, not yet.

Her eyes were open when Jaime arrived.

Which means Brienne was lying under her cloak, looking up at the stars. The sky is clear and the stars are bright, the stars are _beautiful_ and all Jaime can do is stare up at them until he’s back in his own body.

He sits up and grabs his cloak then exits his tent and looks up.

The stars are beautiful here too.

*

Jaime is on horseback, just slowing to stop for a bit the next time it happens and suddenly he is not. He is Brienne again. Brienne who is exhausted. They are both tired. They are always tired. But she is noticeably exhausted. Her whole body aches with fatigue in ways Jaime has to steel himself against just to keep moving forward.

It’s midday or just past. There is no visible danger. As far as Jaime can see, she and Podrick are alone.

“Pod,” he says, “Let’s stop for a moment.”

Podrick agrees at once, asking if she is all right.

“I am fine,” Jaime says as he sits and takes a sip of water.

Podrick asks no further questions.

Jaime has time to trace a single word into the dirt with his finger where he sits and then cover it with Brienne’s hand before he’s back in his own body once again.

_Rest._

*

It happens when Brienne is teaching Pod early one morning. Both of their swords are drawn and Pod is asking if his adjusted stance is better.

Jaime nods without taking in what Podrick’s stance is. Brienne can correct him when she returns to her body. Right now Jaime is so overwhelmed by the feel of Oathkeeper in Brienne’s sword hand he can think of nothing else. 

He asks Podrick for a moment. A moment to think. Surely he won’t find that suspicious.

The boy agrees at once, stepping back while Jaime rolls his wrist, feeling the perfect balance of Oathkeeper in his hand. Brienne’s hand. He never got to hold the sword this way, only ever really managed to fumble with it to present it to her. He never thought he would be able to hold it. Not like this. 

He brings his left hand to the hilt as well, feeling the weight and the power and the beauty of such a perfect thing in his hands. He never...

He holds it out again in his sword hand. Swings it through the air once, twice, three times.

His sword hand. Brienne’s sword hand. At this exact moment, one and the same.

Podrick is watching him with something very close to awe.

And then Jaime is back in his body and his golden hand is heavy.

It’s so heavy.

*

He is still traveling south. Brienne is still travelling north. When they switch today the only noticeable difference in their experience is the direction they are heading. He sighs, feels the air in her lungs, exhales.

Today it seems Jaime gets to be bored traveling in two directions at once.

*

Jaime adjusts the rhythm of his hand, trying to find a pace that will satisfy him as efficiently as possible as he looks up and listens to the light rain patter against his tent.

So far it has been an exercise in futility.

Jaime hates that he isn’t even as good at _this_ with his left hand.

If he could just—

If he could just—

then maybe he could relax enough to sleep for a few hours.

He’s getting distracted. He needs to focus.

Focus.

The task at hand, as it were.

He stops and regroups. Tries again. Slower this time. Tries not to think so much. Tries not to think at all.

It takes a bit but eventually, finally it starts to work.

It works.

Soon he’s close. Really close. He’s so fucking close. He’s tense with the promise of release (finally finally finally), his hand moving faster and gods he is so close he’s so close yes he’s so fucking close finally so fucking close fuck fuck yes he’s going to—

Jaime is in a forest.

Jaime is sitting in a forest against a tree.

Podrick is snoring gently a couple of yards away.

Oathkeeper is laid gently across his lap.

And if Jaime is in a forest Brienne is—

Oh fuck.

Oh _fuck._

Jaime is not usually one for embarrassment but holy gods. He’s certain every square inch of Brienne’s skin is flush with his shame because he can feel his mortification burning through her. Brienne’s entire body feels hot in a very different way from the way his own had right before he left it. Holy gods. Of all the times. Of all the times in the world for this to happen.

Gods.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He’s not one for shame but this is… this is…

This is worse, so much worse, than if someone just walked in on him. Brienne is in his body. And he had been—

He’s never going to be able to look at her again.

She’s never going to be able to look at him again.

Then he remembers that it’s entirely plausible that they might never see each other again anyway and that horrible possibility distracts him from his mortification for a moment. A short moment.

Because he is here which means Brienne is there and there’s absolutely no chance she won’t know exactly what he was doing because she definitely arrived while he was doing it and he would never intentionally put her in this situation and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

This thing that happens, it has never happened twice in the same day before. Not ever. Even at its most frequent it has never happened more than once every few days. And it had happened earlier that afternoon. Jaime had figured… Jaime had figured there was no chance it would happen again so soon.

The excuses he makes are flimsy even in his own mind.

He’s still in Brienne’s body and it’s still the late watch and Podrick is still asleep and he hasn’t actually been in her body that long but it feels like a long time knowing that every moment that passes while he sits here Brienne is in his body and gods he hopes his body lost interest fast, at least sparing her the indignity of having to lie there in shock with his cock hard while she waits to return to her own body and oh gods. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

His shame has settled into the resolve to never touch himself again to make sure this Never Happens Again when he returns to his body.

Finally.

He’s lying on his bedroll once again.

He closes his eyes and feels his embarrassment consume his own body instead of Brienne’s. It’s a mark of how awful the last little while has been that this is a welcome improvement.

It isn’t until he blinks up at the tent above him that it occurs to him that he should have written an apology. Something. Fuck.

He’s never going to touch himself again.

He’s never going to touch himself again.

His dismay at his terrible luck escapes as a groan as he throws his hand across his face to muffle the humiliated sounds he’s making.

He sighs.

If he’d known that was to be the last time he would have worked harder to finish.

The realization comes slow.

And then all at once.

He did finish.

There is undeniable evidence that he did.

Finish.

Except he wasn’t in his body when—

Oh _fuck_.

*

He thinks of little else except how to begin to apologize for The Thing That Occurred. Except that he can’t even get past the abject horror that this is an actual thing that happened between them. His thoughts keep lurching to a halt every time he tries to put his regret into words he could leave for Brienne to read the next time they switch bodies.

It seems the gods are not looking out for Jaime because it isn’t even midday the following day when he finds himself suddenly in the pouring rain.

He curses. He’s not ready and he’s back in Brienne’s body and it’s clear that even if she has parchment to write on it would disintegrate into nothing under the torrential downpour and it’s only rock beneath his feet, he can’t even trace his message into the ground the way they sometimes do and—

Jaime curses again, looks around frantically for the answer to his predicament. There is nothing here but stone. Stones and Podrick.

And he can’t very well arrange the rock on the ground in front of him to say what he needs to say.

“I’m drafting a message!” Jaime exclaims and Podrick turns to him looking bewildered, “Can you remind me when it stops raining?”

Podrick nods and Jaime doesn’t wait for whatever else he might say. He has no time to waste, he could return to himself at any moment.

“I apologize. It will never happen again,” Jaime says.

“I apologize. It will never happen again?” Podrick repeats.

“Yes,” Jaime says, “_I apologize. It will never happen again._ Remind me later. It is important.”

“When it stops raining?”

But Jaime never gets to answer because he’s back in his tent the very next instant and the shock of being out of the rain and himself again is so great that it takes him a beat to notice the message he did not write held in his hand.

It’s a formal apology written out in Brienne’s terrible (but improving) left-handed script.

He reads it over twice, barely taking in the words because it is an apology and surely he is the one who needs to apologize for putting her in such a situation in the first place but here she is apologizing to him for The Thing That Occurred and telling him that she did not escalate the situation (he’d never even considered that she would) or look at his body (the least of his concerns) and she’s assuring him that she knows he didn’t intend for that to happen and that what happened was already happening when she arrived and his own apology is already feeling inadequate and— 

She hasn’t signed her name. They never sign their names. If anyone else ever saw the messages it would be trouble. She’s signed off only with:

_I trust you._

*

The next time it happens Jaime is fully clothed and riding south, thank the gods. Thank the fucking gods. The worst Brienne has to live through for the next few moments is listening to his banner men drone on about whatever it was they were talking about. But Jaime had been ignoring them, Brienne can do the same.

Jaime still feels like he needs to apologize to her more thoroughly, but he can not figure out how. It’s not like he can halt her and Podrick’s progress North to write a long and detailed letter apologizing for it. Such a letter would draw Podrick’s attention in the writing, and he’s certain Brienne wants no physical record of such an event to be in her hands. But besides that, he simply does not know how to put his regret into words.

*

Jaime is almost back to King’s Landing the next time it happens. Brienne is in Winterfell. He exhales with the relief that she has returned safe and sound to where she belongs.

Then he’s back in his body looking up at the Red Keep on the horizon and he can’t help but wonder how Brienne feels about where he is.

*

The fact that Brienne might end up in his body at any moment is one of the reasons he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Cersei right now.

It is far from the only reason Jaime doesn’t want to be anywhere near Cersei right now.

*

Jaime had not realized the weight in his chest pressing against his ribcage like too-small armour until he was in her body instead of his. He is still upset, but the pressure of it, the fatigue, does not live in her body they way it does in his own. It would be a relief, at least a slight relief, if he did not know exactly what Brienne is having to suffer right now.

Standing here at Winterfell Jaime regrets that Brienne has to be in his body for this. That she will have to carry his carefully contained grief, his sorrow and his anger and everything everything everything, until they switch back. His baby boy, now like his daughter: Dead.Dead. Dead. Dead.

He pictures Brienne standing in the meeting he was in. Pictures her leaving and having to navigate the Red Keep. She was only there for a short while, but she will manage. She always does. 

Jaime takes a deep breath. In spite of himself, her body is a welcome oasis from his own today. All he has to do is stand and guard Sansa. He is still himself, but the body that contains him at the moment does not hold the history that his own body does and that it seems, makes a difference. He exhales.

When he returns to his body it feels a little different from when he left it. The weight is still there, the terrible pressure, the devastation, but it has lessened, ever so slightly, it has lessened.

He has eaten, he realizes after a moment. He can tell. She ate something. Drank some water. Jaime can’t… he can’t remember the last time he ate. He’s barely touched food since he came back and discovered…

Brienne has left no note, she’s just returned him to his room and bolted the door.

_Stay here, _her actions seems to say, _Grieve where you can_.

He wipes at his eyes.

Was he already crying when he came back to his body? Or did he start just now, when he saw what she had done for him?

He doesn’t know. But the more it happens, the more he can’t stop the tears from coming, the more he knows it doesn’t matter.

His body needs the release.

*

Jaime walks around for days trying to figure out how to apologize for this as well. Everything about this feels so out of his control. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

He would not have chosen for her to experience that either. None of this. Any of this. His grief is his own. No one was ever supposed to know. No one could ever know. It was how he kept his children safe… How he kept his family safe. Even Cersei does not allow him space to care, to grieve. It is a luxury he can not afford. The price he has to pay.

But Brienne knows.

And cares.

He has no frame of reference for this.

*

Brienne is mid-fight. Her sword in hand, her blood alight with purpose and Jaime shouts without meaning to because gods he could use a good fight.

He’s still squarely focused on his opponent, a stocky man with a nose that’s been broken at least once. He’s in the yard at Winterfell. There is a group of onlookers shouting encouragement. Sparring then. Minimal danger to her. Good.

Brienne’s opponent looks tired, but he looks angry about it, which makes him a moderate threat, at least until Jaime sees him swing his sword and knows what he is dealing with. It’s clear Brienne has gotten in some good hits already. Jaime swells with pride as they circle each other and the man winces through his discomfort. His opponent has a few choice words for Brienne, none of them kind or creative, all of them pathetic attempts to distract her from knocking him into the ground as soon as the fight starts back up in earnest.

The man lunges and Jaime blocks, getting a read on the man’s underwhelming skill. Brienne will destroy him, he thinks fondly, or if Brienne doesn’t return to her body soon Jaime will destroy him on her behalf and beg her forgiveness later for denying her the pleasure.

Then the man sneers, “Kingslayer’s Whore.”

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me,” the man spits, “Everyone knows where that sword came from. What did you have to do to get it?”

Jaime hates this man. Jaime is about make sure he sorely regrets daring to utter such a thing when he no longer has the opportunity.

Jaime has to fight to keep his face straight as he imagines Brienne finishing the man off.

*

Cersei approaches him, all but ambushes him in his room one evening, grabbing him and kissing him without warning. Jaime can not push her away fast enough.

The thought of Brienne appearing in his body when he is with Cersei makes him feel ill. He would never put Brienne in such a position. Brienne did not consent to this. And today, as Cersei pushes forward to kiss him again as Jaime protests and turns away, neither did he.

*

Jaime finds himself in Brienne’s room one night. She’s not wearing her armour, just soft clothes for bed as she warms her hands by the fire. He’s never been Brienne when she wasn’t wearing her armour. He’s never been Brienne when she is alone. Somehow the intimacy of that catches him off guard more than anything has so far.

He’s never been her when she is alone.

But here he is.

He watches the flames as he feels the heat of the fire seep into her skin. She bears the cold better than he does, but she is still human.

He puts another log on the fire, hoping it keeps the cold at bay through the night and then he’s gone, himself once again. He is alone in his room. Just as she is alone in hers.

The distance between them feels especially cruel tonight. To be with her and not at all with her. To be close in a way perhaps no one else has ever been and still be so hopelessly far apart.

It’s not fair.

Because Jaime is in love with Brienne. He knows this. Has known for a long while now. Knows that it only further complicates an obscenely complicated situation. But when has his heart ever cared about complications? He’s in love with Brienne.

*

Cersei isn’t listening to a word he says. No matter what he says, no matter how true, no matter how based in experience and logic, no matter how undeniable, Cersei will hear none of it. Consider none of it. He is the stupidest Lannister once again, standing across from her and trying to reason with her but there is no point. No point at all.

Jaime wants to talk about their children. About Tommen. Tommen who was alive when Jaime left and is now dead. Cersei wants to fuck. They have done neither. Instead she makes plans for the war and Jaime listens. She berates him and Jaime listens.

It is of no matter. He has weathered worse, far worse, from her.

They've had versions of this conversation many times before. They will undoubtably have it again. Let her call him the stupidest Lannister as much as she wants to. That doesn’t make him any less correct.

But then he’s in the north and please no please gods no. Not now. Not now. Not now. This is the worst time. Worse even than The Thing That Occurred. He would give anything not to have Brienne have to stand there and listen to whatever Cersei is saying.

Brienne doesn’t deserve that.

Jaime runs through the conversation he had been having with Cersei, beat by agonizing beat, looking for any hints of escalation he may have ignored. There was a desk between them. Cersei was sitting at her desk and Jaime had been standing in front of it. Cersei had been doing most of the talking. And it was strategy. War strategy.She hadn’t seemed in the mood to hit him today, thank the gods for that, but Jaime burns with shame at the thought of Brienne having to endure that for him. But Cersei hadn’t seemed in the mood to hit him today. Or kiss him for that matter. They haven’t been doing that since Jaime returned. So at least… at least Brienne won’t have to endure that either.

Jaime takes a breath, trying to calm himself down, trying to get a hold on himself while he’s in Brienne’s body and miles and miles away from where he would be able to do something if Cersei… if Cersei… There was a desk between them. There was a desk between them when Jaime left. He hopes that remains true.

Jaime hates that he has put Brienne in such a situation. He would give anything for her not to have to experience any version of what she is surely experiencing at this moment.

When he returns to his body Cersei is still criticizing his lack of ambition and his lack of cunning and his lack of strategy and she’s still sitting behind her desk. Thank the gods Cersei is still sitting behind her desk. She’s still sitting and he is still standing right where he was and it’s clear Brienne said nothing she shouldn’t have. It’s clear Brienne did nothing but stand there and take the abuse the way Jaime does.

Jaime’s not sure what he feels as he thinks on that, but he does not like it.

*

Doubt creeps in. Even though when he returned it seems like nothing had changed since he left,Jaime knows exactly how fast things can shift between he and Cersei when they are alone together and Brienne was him when he was alone with Cersei for… for much longer than Jaime is comfortable with. Brienne was alone with Cersei and Brienne was him and Cersei was Cersei and there is no version of that scenario that Jaime wanted Brienne to have to experience. 

But she did. And Jaime has no way to know if Brienne is all right.

*

The next time they switch it is for less than the time it took Jaime to excuse Brienne from her company and go in search of parchment. He’s back before he’s taken twenty steps away from where she stood but there is a note for him, scrawled hastily on the back of a message a raven brought three days ago.

_Are you all right?_

His first instinct is confusion that Brienne is asking after him. After the position she ended up in. He should be the one making sure she is all right. She was the one who found herself alone in a room with Cersei with no warning the day before yesterday. She was the one who did not consent to any part of that conversation. Gods how he hopes it was only a conversation. He’s almost certain it couldn’t have been more, but he can not stop the worst possibilities from haunting him.

His second instinct is to brush Brienne's question aside. He’s suffered worse. He has. Cersei has been far worse to him. He regrets beyond measure that Brienne had to experience any of it but he is thankful every moment since that she did not have to suffer worse (how he hopes she did not have to suffer worse). But he can not reply right away. That is the nature of this. And the more he thinks on how he will reply when he is able, the more he realizes that isn’t what she asked. Brienne did not ask if he’s been through worse.

Brienne asked if he is all right.

Jaime does not know how to answer that question.

*

They could destroy each other, Jaime realizes much much later than he should as he finds himself at Sansa’s side once again. They could utterly destroy each other. Jaime is standing guard over Sansa Stark, right in the heart of Winterfell. Sansa is discussing important things with important people.

And Jaime stands beside her as Brienne and watches and listens.

Cersei would kill her. If Cersei found herself in the same situation she would wait to be alone with Sansa and then kill her in an instant, then she would take advantage of the situation to kill as many more enemies as Brienne would allow her access to.

But Cersei isn’t the one in this situation. No, Cersei, both her mind and her body, are back in a meeting of her own.

Cersei is sitting on the Iron Throne. Jaime had been standing to her left.

Brienne is standing there now.

Yet Jaime knows Brienne will not do anything he wouldn’t do.

Just as she knows that he will do nothing to harm the people Brienne is sworn to protect.

He trusts her.

She trusts him.

Completely.

Jaime has never trusted another person the way he trusts Brienne. Not one.

They didn’t have a choice about the situation they have found themselves in, but as Jaime stands guard beside Sansa, as he upholds the oaths Brienne swore, he realizes that if he did have a choice, if he got to choose the person who he would trade places with in this way, he would choose Brienne.

He doesn’t have a choice, but if he did, he would choose Brienne.


	3. Chapter 3

He’s never been Brienne for so long. It must be close to an hour he shadows Sansa as her guard. It’s never lasted this long before. It’s giving him time to ponder how she is faring as the Commander of the Lannister Forces. He’s not worried in the slightest. She is more than capable of riding along in silence the other men will take as Lannister arrogance as they travel towards Highgarden. That alone will keep her safe until he returns.

“Lady Brienne?”

It is clear it is not the first time Sansa has asked after her.

“Yes Milady?”

“You seem… distant today. Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” Jaime says, “I apologize.”

*

He’s still traveling which means he’s not at King’s Landing which means he breathes a little easier, not worried day and night about when it might happen, not having to think about all of the worst case scenarios every time he enters a room. Every time Cersei enters a room.

He knows he is in a certain level of danger wherever he is, but at least out here the type of danger he faces is likely to be the kind Brienne is more accustomed to.

But he needn’t have worried. It barely happens at all for ages, and when it does it is little more than flashes, not long enough to count even to three.

This suits him fine. He is once again about to do things for his family that he would rather Brienne not have to do on his behalf.

*

It was easier than he thought. They are on the way back, victorious. He is settling in for the long ride when the attack comes.

As dragonfire reigns down from above and his men scatter and burn (and burn and burn) Jaime thinks fleetingly of Brienne as he pulls himself together.

Gods he hopes Brienne doesn’t have to see this.

*

He sees his chance, slim though it might be, and Jaime charges. He does not think beyond that. He has a chance. So he takes it.

Jaime charges towards Daenerys Targaryen.

Jaime charges towards a dragon.

*

As the weight of his armour drags him further and further beneath the surface he thinks only of Brienne and how much he hopes that he remains in his body right until the very moment the water fills his lungs and the stranger takes him.

*

There’s a moment when he’s retching up water on the shore with Bronn beside him that Jaime is Brienne, up in the North. She’s just walking down a hall, which is good because Jaime is disoriented and falters as soon as he finds himself standing on her feet, bracing himself against the wall to keep himself upright.

He’s back in his body as soon as he manages to stand, still doubled over and coughing up the water that should have killed him.

When he is able to breathe he rolls over onto his back and looks up at the smoke-filled sky.

He hopes Brienne doesn’t worry about him too much.

*

The next time he is in her body it is late the following day and the first thing he thinks upon his arrival is that Brienne has not slept since he was last her. She is a very specific type of exhausted, tense and antsy though she stands perfectly still. Her torso is hot and her hands are cold and Jaime immediately has to put effort into keeping her hands from shaking. A quick read of the room she is in confirms that her anxiety is not based on her environment.

She is worried. She is worried about him.

*

It doesn’t happen again as he travels south. It doesn’t happen again as he returns to King’s Landing. He hopes the time before was enough to assure her that he is unharmed. Once again he finds himself drafting messages to write to her should they switch, but he doesn’t know what he would say. She already knows the most important thing.

She felt his heart beating in his chest. Felt the air in his lungs.

She knows he is alive.

He hopes she is able to relax now.

*

He’s almost at the Dragonpit when it happens. It fucking happens _now_. It didn’t happen the whole rest of his journey back but of course it happens now. Jaime has never regretted this thing that happens more than he does in this moment because Brienne is already there. She is already at the Dragonpit. Already tense, a tangle of nerves that she hides well as she waits for the others to arrive.

But Brienne is already at the Dragonpit and that means—

*

It is agony, absolute agony, to have to stand there as Brienne and watch Cersei and her company approach. Because there he is. Jaime Lannister. Following his twin into the Dragonpit.

And Jaime just has to stand there as Brienne and watch as they approach. Feel the tension in Brienne’s body at having to be here at all. Watch Brienne be the one who has to walk behind Cersei…

Brienne looks over to him as she passes.

She looks exactly like him. No one would ever suspect the truth of this moment.

Yet beneath that he can see her so clearly.

Jaime will never forgive himself for putting her through this.

*

He hopes with everything he is that they switch back soon.

They do not.

Brienne has to sit through this entire gathering as him.

And he has to watch her do this for him.

Jaime has been her for longer stretches of time, but it has never felt longer than this.

*

When it is over he rises from her chair and as he stands there as Brienne and he has to watch Brienne be the one to stand as him and follow Cersei towards the exit.

He is paralyzed by the sight. Of himself in Cersei’s wake, of Brienne in his body, of Brienne having to do this, even though he doesn’t want her to, even though he doesn’t want to—

He wants to scream at Brienne to stop. Just stop. But he can’t do that to Brienne. If Brienne were to speak to him like that, here, in front of Cersei…

He can’t put her in danger. He can’t.

So he swallows hard and watches himself walk away from the woman he loves.

But then he is walking on his own feet. In his own armour. In his own body once again.

And Jaime stops.

*

He looks back at Brienne. She is standing right where he was standing when he was the one having to watch him walk away and beneath her stillness she looks as devastated as he felt, still feels, but he can’t—

He can’t turn around.

He can’t walk over to Brienne, no matter how much he wants to. And he wants to, more than anything he wants to, but Cersei is watching him, watching her, watching them. So he can’t.

He can’t put Brienne in any more danger

So he tears his gaze from Brienne’s and forces himself to follow his sister without looking back.

*

It doesn’t happen as Jaime returns to the Red Keep. He is the one who has to follow Cersei all the way back to the castle. He is glad of this small mercy. He can’t stand the thought of Brienne having to do this for him… He’s already put her through too much.

*

Jaime is the one in his body when he fails to convince Cersei to listen to reason, to send her army north, just as he is the one in his body when he hears that Tyrion managed to do what Jaime could not.

Jaime is the one in his body when Cersei chastises him for starting to plan for the journey and then tells him she lied about sending her forces north.

And Jaime is the one in his body when he turns and walks away from Cersei.

Jaime is the one in his body when he leaves.

*

Jaime rides north.

Jaime rides north and waits for it to happen. For him to be Brienne so that she can be him. He thinks of dozens of messages to write to her, but all of them convey what she will know the instant she appears in his body.

For the first time in a long time he wants it to happen.

He wants her to know where he is.

He wants her to know where he is going.

*

Days pass and it does not happen.

He remains firmly of his own body as he travels, just as he imagines Brienne entirely in hers, somewhere further to the north. He sighs and watches his breath leave his body, visible in the bitter air.

Jaime tries not to dwell on how much he misses being connected to Brienne in this way. He had grown so used to it that he feels the lack of her remote presence in his life acutely.

Jaime tries not to dwell on how cold he is.

He is not successful on either count.

*

He’s been on the road for days and days when it finally happens. Not for very long. Only a moment. But he is in Brienne’s body which means she is in his which means now she knows where he is. What he’s doing.

She knows he’s coming north.

*

Jaime has barely eaten in two days and his feet are frozen in his deteriorating boots and he’s never been so cold in his fucking life and it’s dark, nothing but the sliver of moonlight to guide his way, but there is no shelter and he is afraid if he stops moving he will freeze. He’s afraid if he stops moving he will die. So he keeps dragging himself forward. He must. Winterfell can’t be more than a few days away by now. Surely. Surely.

Jaime is in a warm room. If he didn’t know the room he would fear for his sanity. For his life. But he knows this room. Knows this body.

It is late but Brienne was still awake. Her room is so warm, shockingly warm compared where Jaime just was. Where his body still is. He’s torn between the desire to burrow beneath the furs on her bed and the urge to huddle as close to the fire as he can get.

There’s a message, carefully laid out on her bed:

_If you are fortunate enough to be here when I am in this room, rest._

He has the good sense to toss the note into the fire before he collapses into her bed.

He’s never slept so soundly.

*

When Jaime wakes he is himself once again, though he is not where he last was. Brienne has covered considerable distance and found him better shelter than he has had in days, which is probably why he didn’t wake the moment he was back in his own body.

Brienne has drawn a map in the snow near where he woke. He commits the path she has drawn to memory before he wipes it clear with his boot.

*

Jaime is very much looking forward to the next time it happens, not so secretly wishing that Brienne will once again be alone in her warm room with her warm bed and he will be allowed the luxury of rest once again.

But the next time he finds himself in her body it takes him the longest it has ever taken to realize they have switched because Brienne is also trudging through the snow one miserable step at a time.

Jaime looks up to the sky to get his bearings.

Brienne is walking south.

Brienne is coming to meet him.

*

When Jaime returns to his body he reconfirms that he is sticking to the path Brienne laid out for him exactly. She’s coming to find him. He needs to be where she will look for him.

*

“Ser Jaime,” she says by way of greeting, as if she wasn’t literally in his body not three hours before.

“Brienne,” he says, desperately cold but warming at the sight of her in front of him, “Surely we are past the point of formality now.”

“Perhaps,” she concedes, and maybe it’s the cold that’s rattled his brain but he’s pretty sure that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

At least she addresses him as Jaime after that.

*

She’s brought food and water and Jaime is almost as grateful for the supplies as he is for her company.

*

It happens not long after he has finished eating as the two of them walk north together. She glances over at him but stops herself before she makes eye contact.

“Are you all right?” Brienne asks, her inflection coming through his voice. It was always a strange thing, knowing this was happening, but he’d gotten used to being her for a few moments every once and a while. But now they are in the same place and alone, which means he has to hear her speak through his voice and it is odd. Very very odd.

“I’m fine,” he says, though it is her voice that answers.

“I know my body is not—” she starts to apologize.

“Stop right there,” Jaime says but she doesn’t stop.

“—what anyone would choose.”

“_Brienne_,” he says, not even knowing where to start, “Your body is a marvel. Gods, this has happened how many times now? And every time it takes me a moment to wrap my head around that this is the body of a person and not the warrior themself.”

“You jest.”

“I absolutely do not jest,” Jaime insists, deadly serious. “The first time I was in your body while you had your sword in your hand I could barely contain myself. I had to ask Podrick to give me a moment.”

“It’s your sword,” she says, still not looking at him. 

“It is _yours_,” he says, “It was made for your hand. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

He moves his hand, his sword hand, her sword hand to the hilt of Oathkeeper as she watches.

“May I?” Jaime asks.

Brienne looks right at him then, as if surprised he is asking permission, her confusion written across his face. The sword is currently on his hip after all, but he needs this to happen with her blessing. It is her hand, her sword, hers. All of it hers. So he waits, waits until she says, “Of course.”

Oathkeeper all but sings in the winter air as he draws the blade. Perfect and true.

“See?” Jaime says as he feels the sword settle in her hand like it was crafted to her grip, “Do you feel that?”

So far the timing of this thing that happens has been inconvenient at best and absolutely appalling at worst but this time Jaime couldn’t have timed it better, because then he’s back in his body which means Brienne is back in hers and she’s holding her sword and she’s looking at it.

“Do you feel that?” Jaime asks again.

She makes him wait, but after a long moment she says, “I do.”

*

Jaime has fallen silent again as they walk, once again in each other’s bodies.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asks.

And he is fine. He is.

Jaime is more fine than he has been in a long time.

*

He waits until he is back in his own body to bring up what’s been on his mind, “Cersei always said we were the same person.”

Brienne stops walking through the snow to turn and look at him, “Are you saying—”

“No!” Jaime says, alarmed that what he said could be misinterpreted already, “No. This,” he gestures between the two of them, “This has never happened before. Not with her. Not with anyone.”

Brienne seems afraid to make the wrong assumption again because she’s standing there watching him intently, waiting for him to continue.

“What I’m saying… What I’m saying is that even with this. Even when I’m you, I’m still me. That even when it happens I’m always me. And you are always you.” Jaime can feel himself floundering trying to get this into words, but it feels important. It feels like a revelation. “Brienne, no matter what, I am me and you are you.”

“Did you… did you ever think we were?” Brienne asks tentatively, “The same person?”

“No,” he says, and that’s what’s so astounding. He has to make her understand how important this is. He never, not for a single moment, thought he and Brienne were the same person. Even when this thing that happens started happening more and more often. He is always Jaime. She is always Brienne.

Brienne’s expression is thoughtful and soft, softer than he has seen from her. “We are not the same person,” she says, like she’s known all along, which of course she has but she’s telling him anyway because he needs to hear her say it.

“We are not the same person,” Jaime agrees, his heart light with the truth of it.

*

When he wakes he is in her body. And she is standing not far away with his sword drawn. He watches her for a lingering moment before he speaks, “You’ve been practising.”

“Of course I have,” she answers without looking at him (she has already mastered the art of avoiding looking directly at him when he is the one in her body), moving her left arm through the motions with precision that far outstrips Jaime’s early efforts, “What if it happens while you are in combat? I need to be able to defend you.”

Jaime stands and approaches her, watching his body move with her skill and care. “By the looks of things, I should be so lucky to have you defend me,” he says.

She rolls her eyes and it looks so exactly like Brienne despite being his eyes that he laughs out loud in a way that is so Jaime it startles them both to hear his laughter coming from her and then they’re both laughing at the absurdity of this and them and everything because what else is there to do.

They laugh as they gather their few supplies and keep walking. They laugh when they return to their own bodies not long after and then they laugh again, after, after the endless loop of apologies between them, when they are able to address The Thing That Occurred like it was just another bizarre experience they’ve accidentally shared. ("It was... unexpected," Brienne says delicately. "I would think so," Jaime replies.)

When they switch bodies again not long after they pause only long enough to share an amused glance before they keep walking.

How strange it is to trust another so completely.

How wonderful.

*

They are very close to Winterfell now.

“If…” Jaime begins. He is in his body. This is something he needs to say as himself.

“Jaime.”

“Swear to me if they sentence me to die you will be the one to—”

“What?!”

“Brienne, listen to me, it’s the only way to be sure that—”

“No, Jaime, stop. Just stop—”

“We don’t know what will happen if one of us dies while it’s happening! This is the only way to be sure that—”

“I won’t—”

“Think about it! If it’s you then we’ll know. We’ll both know for certain that it’s not you they’re killing!”

“I’m not going to—”

“My worst nightmare, the very worst, is watching someone raise a sword to my neck through your eyes,” he says, she has to understand this, more than anything she has to understand, “But if you have the sword, Brienne if you’re the one holding the sword… it’s the only way. We’d be able to wait. We’d be able to wait until—”

“Until I have to be the one to kill you?” she asks, whisper quiet in the winter air.

_Yes_, he wants to say. And he’s desperately sorry it has to be this way but _Yes Brienne yes. _She has to be the one to kill him because he’s so scared and he loves her so much and he can’t live with even the thought of accidentally causing her death because what if… what if he dies when she’s the one in his body? What would happen to her? His lungs compress with the horror of it, with the uncertainty of it, with how real the possibility feels, that he could die and it would be her that suffers for it and holy gods he loves her he loves her he loves her and the truth of that is screaming in his chest and she’s still looking at him, waiting for him to reply but he can’t, he can’t find the words to translate the rush of everything that’s making it hard to think, making it hard to breathe—

It happens. They switch and Brienne’s body is just as overloaded as his own is. The same enormous tangle of everything as they stand here alone in the snow overcome with, oh. Oh Brienne.

There’s no mistaking what he’s feeling in her body. Just as there’s no way she’s not feeling what is in his.

He can’t even look at her. Which is fine because she can’t look at him either. Neither of them able to watch the understanding come across the other.

So they just stand there in stunned silence.

They just stand there and feel exactly what this conversation is doing to the other’s body.

No words come. There is nothing to say. Nothing he can say. Nothing she can say. There is nothing. And everything.

Gods. Oh gods. This is—

They switch back and he’s looking at her boots. He’s looking at her boots because looking at Brienne would be too much to handle right now.

“It won’t come to it,” Brienne says, herself once again, talking to something to his left so she doesn’t have to look directly at him, “But I swear that if it does, which it won’t, I will not allow it. But if it does—”

“Brienne…” he’s still trying to process the depth of what he felt in Brienne’s body when faced with the scenario he had laid out.

“If it does I swear to you I will be the one to do it.”

“Thank you,” he says, suddenly wishing they could switch bodies again, just for a moment, so she could feel the relief moving through him.

“We don’t need to discuss it further,” she says, not looking at him with the same precision she uses when he is in her body.

They don’t need to discuss what they just experienced.

But maybe they should.


	4. Chapter 4

Winterfell looms on the horizon by mid-afternoon but Brienne stops walking towards it.

Jaime turns to question why she stopped— ah. That.

“I will be able to convince Lady Sansa not to harm you,” Brienne says, “But I cannot speak on your behalf when I’m like this.”

Jaime appreciates the irony that her words on this matter literally come from his mouth.

She takes a sip of water before passing it to him as she says, “We’ll just have to wait to switch back before we proceed.”

*

It’s been an hour at least, probably closer to two. And he is still in her body and she is in his. They are still sheltered amongst the edge of a forest. Winterfell, a castle with walls and fireplaces designed to keep one warm and out of the cold is still within sight.

“Care to spar?” Jaime asks, breaking the silence that had settled as they wait.

“I would like to,” she says, “But not now.”

“Why not?” At least if they were moving they would generate more heat than just lurking here in the shadows.

“What if someone sees us and gets the wrong impression?” Brienne replies at once, “If the first thing they see is us fighting in the woods…”

She’s right. The optics of that would be far from ideal. No one knows he’s here. No one knows why he’s here. Seeing them engaged in combat so close to Winterfell would not endear him to anyone, even if they explained they were sparring. But even that would only beg further questions. Like why they were sparring out in the woods before Jaime even arrived.

“How are you going to explain that you found me out here?” he asks, wondering how it didn’t occur to him earlier that Brienne disappearing for a night and returning with him in tow might bring more scrutiny than they are ready for. It’s not like she can explain how it was she knew he was coming north.

“It is not uncommon to return from a trip outside with a refugee or two seeking shelter in exchange for a promise to fight for the living,” she says, “But more so than that, after the meeting at the Dragonpit, it was agreed that you would be coming north. That is the word I received after your brother returned from the Red Keep. If they ask I will say I was expecting you.”

Her faith in him still gives him pause.

“Cersei had no intention of honouring her word.”

“No,” Brienne agrees, “But you did.”

This feels dangerously close to approaching a conversation he would rather not have while he stands here in her body and she seems to agree because the silence returns.

*

The sun is irritatingly close to the horizon and Jaime is still in Brienne’s body and she is still in his and therefore they are still lurking on the edge of the woods in sight of Winterfell and it is getting colder.

“I’m not spending another night out here.”

“It can’t be long now,” Brienne says. She must be right, only one other time have they been each other for even close to this long, but that doesn’t make him any less annoyed by how ridiculous this is.

He bounces on the spot, trying to get her blood moving enough to warm his limbs. If he was in his own body he would be long past the point of throwing caution to the wind and storming into the courtyard at Winterfell. Perhaps the Starks would kill him, but at least he’d get to be somewhere not as cold first. However, he is in Brienne’s body, which means if they arrive now and they decide to kill him—

He will wait as long as it takes.

*

When they finally return to their own bodies, long after the sun has set, they head towards Winterfell as fast as they can manage.

*

It is very late. There are a handful of guards on watch but otherwise the courtyard is deserted. The guards know Brienne and do not question her late arrival or the person she travels with.

*

After that the process is a variation of what he expected, but not nearly as bad as he feared. They don’t even take his sword when Brienne leads him to the room where they will speak with Sansa.

*

It’s a small room with a desk and a fireplace but little else. It is late but it is clear Sansa was not yet done with her day. She looks up from what she is writing and takes them both in before she says, “Lady Brienne.”

The conversation that follows is surprisingly brief. Jaime was expecting a trial. A trial or an execution. Or both. Instead he is standing here with Brienne in the middle of the night speaking with Sansa Stark. Sansa asks a few simple questions of him about why he is here, of why he has arrived without his forces.

“Very well,” Sansa says before turning to Brienne, “You trust him.”

“I do.”

Sansa turns back to look at him, “Then you will fight with us.”

*

Word travels quickly the next day: Jaime Lannister arrived in the night.

Tyrion is the only one who is glad of this, finding him by mid-morning amongst the folks of Winterfell. Jaime is relieved he gets to speak with Tyrion while looking like himself.

*

When they are in the company of others they address one another formally. Always. Always “Ser Jaime” and “Lady Brienne”. The title gives them that extra bit of time to note which of their bodies they are in before they speak, to make sure they don’t use the wrong name where people can hear.

They fall in to this pattern shortly after Jaime is granted permission to fight alongside them, and they commit to it as a formal strategy later the following day, the two of them standing up on one of the walls of the castle, in full view of hundreds of people, but none of them close enough to hear Jaime call Brienne “Brienne” even though she stands there in his skin.

“We will have to be careful,” Brienne says, “Discreet.”

“Of course,” he says, looking out across the snowy fields, before looking back at her. His face looks very serious under her command, “We’ve made it this far with no one catching on.”

Surely no matter what follows it will be easier than when they were on conflicting sides of a war, miles apart, unable to communicate fully… Jaime can’t imagine that anything that happens here in Winterfell will be harder to navigate than that…

He expresses this but Brienne says only, “I hope you are right,” before describing what her day looks like tomorrow in case he finds himself the one living it.

*

They’re out in the yard the next day, the bluntest practice swords they could find in hand. It’s still very early (and therefore bitterly cold) but they do not want an audience for this.

As they begin, circling slowly, easing in to the rhythm of swinging swords at each other, Jaime is in his own body, and Brienne is in hers, but it’s not long before that is not the case.

It is bizarre, to be matching against her as she inhabits his body. It is hard not to be distracted by the sight of himself filling his vision. All those years thinking Cersei was his mirror image did nothing to prepare him for this.

Brienne asks a few questions about his stance, how he’s best found the ways to adapt in certain scenarios. Jaime does his best to answer, but standing in Brienne’s body and holding a sword in his left hand he finds it hard to articulate.

They switch back when they are both mid-swing and that throws them both for a loop, to be suddenly on the offence instead of defence and vice versa, but they find their footing soon enough. Brienne has him stop a few times to watch him move, walking around him as he swings, watching where his feet are, where his body is, how he protects his right side when that is where she presses her attack.

He asks her about her reach, about her movements, about any past injuries that might flare up in the heat of battle, anything he can think of that will be helpful in keeping her alive.

When they switch again she immediately steps back out of range and practises blocking her right side the way he had been while he swings his sword, first with one hand, then the other, then with both. He needs to know the exact range of her arms as well as he knows his own. He bounces on the balls of his feet with his eyes closed, taking note of anywhere her armour feels strange or different than his own, he presses his hand against the rib she broke, tests the knee she hurt as a child.

They spar. Carefully, not at full intensity, nowhere close to full intensity, but they spar and spar and spar.

They stay out there long enough for them to have switched bodies several times over before they return to the castle.

*

Being Brienne walking across Winterfell is strange. He’s never been her around so many people before. For a long time he was only her when she was around Podrick. He finds the experience of being her around people jarring. It is simultaneously not at all like walking around as himself, but also it is not all together different either. They both draw attention to themselves without trying to, her even more-so than him.

She is tall. She is a woman. She is wearing armour and carrying a sword.

Jaime made peace with all of these things about Brienne years ago, long before he had spent so much time walking around in her skin.

It seems people are less inclined to adjust to these things than one would hope.

That said, Jaime is pleased to note that in Winterfell the looks of scorn and dismissal that greet Brienne are outweighed by the respect. Respect that he knows she has earned the hard way.

When Jaime is himself, even when he walked amongst the Lannister forces, the respect he got did not feel like the respect Brienne has here.

*

They switch bodies rather a lot over the next few days. It does not seem to matter whether they are in direct proximity or both going about their own routines. At least three times a day Jaime will find himself as Brienne, and she as him. Most of the time they are able to adapt to whatever the other is doing and simply carry on until they switch back, but every so often Jaime will find himself receiving information Brienne will need to have.

They make a point to speak in private before they retire for the evening, to exchange any information that may have been missed while one was the other. They do this where they can be seen but not heard, never in each other’s rooms, never in such a way that it couldn’t look like a coincidence that they just happened to bump into each other in the halls, or in the yard, or on the outer walls.

Today Jaime gives Brienne several updates about the preparations for the upcoming battle that he oversaw in the afternoon as they linger in the hall after their evening meal. She nods. They are in their own bodies as they debrief this evening and he is taking advantage of getting to look up at her.

“Thank you,” she says, “I was sorry to miss the middle of that discussion.”

He nods once, feeling once again like this situation inconveniences her far more than him. She has important duties to attend to on a daily basis, “Did I miss anything?” he asks, knowing the answer will be a no.

“Hamond does not care for you as a person.”

“Which one is Hamond?”

“Dark hair, beard…”

Jaime feels himself grinning, “Brienne it’s the North. You just described most of the men here. Although to be fair, most of the men with dark hair and a beard do not care for me as a person.”

He’s not expecting a laugh, which is good because he does not get one, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping for at least an exasperated sigh. Brienne still looks unsettled.

“Did he say something to you?” Jaime asks, dropping his playfulness.

“He said something to you.”

“What was it?”

“I would rather not repeat it.”

“Was it true?” Whatever they sneer at him usually is. He killed a king and fucked his sister. Few need more to work with.

Brienne looks alarmed by having to consider what was said in this way. So it was true.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaime says, “I’m certain I’ve heard worse.”

Brienne sighs, “You have.”

“As have you.”

Brienne turns to look further down the hall instead of continuing to look at him. They’ve never discussed the scorn they both attract, but for very different reasons. It seems they are done discussing it now because Brienne asks if there’s anything else she needs know tonight.

Jaime shakes his head. Sansa is expecting her first thing in the morning, but they both know that.

“Then goodnight Jaime.”

“Goodnight Brienne.”

*

He falls asleep in his room and wakes in hers.

He yawns, regretting that he is once again in the body that has to be up and about first. He throws another log on the fire before he starts getting ready for her day without urgency. They know each other’s schedules inside and out for occasions such as this, and he still has ample time to get ready and eat something to curb the hunger he feels in Brienne’s body before Sansa will be expecting her.

*

That night Brienne gives him the names of three more men who hate him. Otherwise he missed little of note while he was her this afternoon.

“You don’t have to keep track of everyone who dislikes me,” he says, “I assume most people do.”

“I only mention the ones who seem motivated and capable of acting on it.”

“Very well,” he says, “Did I miss anything else?”

Even though he is in his own body this evening she looks out across the horizon so she doesn’t have to look at him as she speaks, “Two women who are aware you are no longer of the Kingsguard expressed interest in—”

“I don’t need to kn—”

“There may have been another, but she was less direct—”

“Brienne—”

“There was also a man who seemed keen to—”

“Brienne—”

“I did not know how to answer them so I did not—”

“Tell them no. If it happens again, tell them no,” Jaime says firmly.

“You’re certain? I…”

“I am absolutely certain,” Jaime cuts her off, “I am not interested in any of them.”

“I will tell them so,” she says, blushing and not looking at him even more pointedly than before, “If it happens again.”

Jaime sighs. It will happen again. It never occurred to him that this was one of the hazards of being in his body. He’s been declining offers for his affection since he was a boy, “I apologize if any of that made you uncomfortable.”

“It was just not what I am used to. People do not… approach me in that way.”

“I beg to differ. Your red-haired friend is quite insistent.”

Brienne turns to him looking startled, “He is not my friend. And do not encourage him.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

This is as close as they’ve come to acknowledging the thing that they both know but don’t discuss.

*

Tyrion doesn’t say anything to him directly, but Jaime is far from oblivious to the way Tyrion observes the way he and Brienne are. Jaime is certain Tyrion does not suspect the truth of what is transpiring between them. Clever as he is, his brother would never conclude that he and Brienne are swapping bodies at a surprising frequency.

On the other hand, Jaime is absolutely certain that Tyrion has accurately surmised the other truth that lives between them.

Jaime is not prepared to be the one to start that conversation so all he can do is hope that when Tyrion tries to discuss it with him, he is the one in his body.

*

It’s a normal day. He and Brienne break their fast together before Brienne goes to tend to Sansa. Jaime goes out into the practise yard. Somewhere around midday he finds himself at Sansa’s side as Brienne. Normal.

Except that once he’s in Brienne’s body it is clear that this is not a normal day. There’s a tension in her chest, an ache that feels like the shadow of pain. Of sorrow? He doesn’t know for sure, but he knows it is her.

Whatever it is, the wound is old and deep. Long scarred over grief perhaps. That is Jaime’s best guess as he stands and tries to examine what truths linger in Brienne’s body, but he knows he will not figure it out. There’s something comforting about that. That no matter what, even with this unexplainable thing that happens between them, this level of intimacy they can not control, Brienne has her secrets.

Still, that evening, long after they have switched back into their bodies, after they have had an evening meal at a crowded table in the hall. After Jaime has stolen more glances than normal at Brienne, as her behaviour remains perfectly ordinary, no sign at all of anything… after all of that Jaime finds the space to quietly ask if she wants to talk about it, whatever it may be.

Her answer is simple but appreciative, “Not today.”

*

There’s a brief side discussion in a meeting today. About Cersei. About how likely she is to die and by whose hand. It is hard to tell who around the table is most enthusiastic about the various possibilities.

“How many opportunities did you have to kill her?” Jaime asks Brienne quietly, almost recklessly, not needing to specify which her he speaks of. The meeting has ended but they are not alone, those who remain standing around the maps are still talking amongst themselves.

Brienne replies with no hesitation, “Far fewer than you’ve had.”

And that stops his thoughts completely.

*

She apologizes to him as soon as they are alone together.

“It’s all right,” Jaime says, “I just… never considered it that way before.”

“Why would you?”

He shakes his head and looks away. Anyone else might say that but Brienne… Brienne has seen things. Brienne has seen reasons why he should have considered it.

*

Jaime is Brienne and he is walking outside, huddled into Brienne’s cloak trying to shield his face from the bitter wind as he walks past where Bran is sitting in his chair, unbothered by the snow that’s coming down sideways.

Bran glances to him as he approaches. Gives him barest of nods as he passes.

Says, “Ser Jaime.”

It takes Jaime’s very cold brain three steps to realize what Bran said and he stops dead and looks down at himself to make sure. Two (cold) hands. Oathkeeper on his hip. Brienne’s armour. Brienne. He definitely looks like Brienne right now. Which means—

He wheels around.

Walks three steps back towards where Bran sits.

No one else is around.

No one else is around but Jaime is very quiet as he says (he does not ask), “You know.”

Bran looks at him but says nothing.

“Do you know how?” Jaime asks, “Do you know why?”

“No,” Bran says, inscrutable as ever, “But would it change anything if I did?”

*

“Bran knows,” is the first thing out of Brienne’s mouth that evening when they go for a very chilly stroll around the grounds together. She is in her body and he is in his, and there’s a part of him that is annoyed by this. Her body is far better adapted to the cold, and her cloak is warmer. He’s still miserable in the northern air regardless, but at least when he’s her he’s marginally warmer when they choose to do this outside, which more often than not they do. 

“He does.”

“He addressed me correctly. Though I was you at the time.”

“He did the same to me. Did he say anything further to you?”

“Not anything of note. Why, did he say something to you?”

“Only that he did not know why this was happening to us. And then he asked me if it would change anything if he did.”

“Why wouldn’t it change anything?” Brienne asks.

Jaime does not know.

*

Today he wakes up as himself, but he switches to being Brienne several times throughout the day. No one notices anything unusual about his behaviour, either when he is himself, or when he is Brienne.

At the end of the day he approaches her and asks if she would be so kinda as to have a quick word with him, and then they stroll about the grounds and catch up on what they missed on their respective days.

It is strange how normal this is now.

*

They’ve just put away the practise swords after decent session. They are both moving far more naturally when they are in the other’s body than they were before though Brienne is being far harder on herself than she should be. She’s already apologized twice for the hit she took when she turned her hand as if she were holding her sword instead of his, and it seems she is apologizing for a third time.

“It’s nothing,” Jaime says again. And it is. One of his knuckles is a bit swollen. She’d had to point out the injury to him when he returned to his body for him to even notice it. He will have a bruise. Nothing worse.

Brienne is still concerned, “I will be more careful the next time I am inside you.”

“Best not let anyone hear you talking about being inside me,” Jaime says to her, leaning in and dropping his voice as he does so, unable to help himself, gods forgive him he can not help himself, “The conclusions they will draw…”

Brienne blushes in the way that her body does and his does not.

*

Jaime’s lost track of what he was doing because today when he became Brienne she was in the yard working with some of the younger soldiers and that consumed his attention for the afternoon in the best way. However, now that the lesson is over he has the time to look around and he spots himself on the other side of the courtyard.

Oh for fuck's sake. Jaime can’t very well run towards them so he walks towards them. Briskly.

Tyrion is talking to Brienne. This wouldn’t be a problem except that at this moment Brienne is in Jaime’s body, which means Brienne is almost certainly on the receiving end of some brotherly advice that Jaime would rather not be discussed with her this way.

He arrives in time to hear Brienne tersely say, “It is complicated.”

“How complicated could it possibly— Lady Brienne!” Tyrion says in greeting when he sees Jaime approaching, “We were just speaking of you.”

“Only good things I hope,” Jaime says, and it sounds so much like his own voice that Brienne sends him a look of warning over Tyrion’s turned head.

“I need to speak with Ser Jaime for a moment,” Jaime says, in his most Brienne-like tone.

“Of course. Excuse me,” Tyrion says before graciously removing himself from their company, not before turning to Brienne and mouthing something to her that Jaime doesn’t need to see to take a guess at what the theme is.

“Whatever he said I apologize,” Jaime says.

“There is no need to apologize. He was not rude or unpleasant—”

“Brienne.”

“He just doesn’t understand the full scope of what he speaks,” she says.

“That it is complicated,” Jaime provides.

“It is.”

Jaime sighs.

It is.

*

“What are you talking about?” Brienne asks, stopping their evening walk across the courtyard where they are alone. He stops as well and adjusts the way her cloak hangs from his shoulders. He’s still not used to the extra inch or two of height he gains when he’s in her body.

“The first time,” Jaime says, looking over at her as she moves her (his) right arm a fraction and then moves her left instead to scratch absentmindedly at her chin, “The first time it happened. I was in my bed and you were on the road with Podrick.”

“That wasn’t the first time.”

“What do you mean?”

“It happened before that.”

“When?”

She hesitates, “Do you remember when we were being taken to Harrenhal?”

He pales. Or rather he would, if her skin was not already so pale.

“We were on a horse. You were delirious. Your wrist was… was as bad as it got I think.”

Jaime remembers little of that part of the journey. Just pain and humiliation. And her.

“We were on a horse and I was facing backwards and you were facing forwards and—”

He remembers.

He remembers the world spinning, having no sense of motion, he couldn’t tell if he was moving forward or back as the pain got so bad it seemed to disappear, just for a moment—

He remembers looking down and seeing he had two hands and thinking he was dreaming.

He remembers looking down and seeing he had two hands and thinking he was dying.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaime asks.

“It happened so fast, I didn’t know if it was really happening.”

“You should have told me.”

“The pain you were in. You were in no state to—”

“You could have told me after.”

“I thought I imagined it,” Brienne says, “And then it didn’t happen again until after I had left. You wouldn’t have believed me even if I did tell you.”

“No,” Jaime agrees, “Perhaps not at first. But when it happened again I would have known it was real. I would have said something at Riverrun when I had the chance.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you?” he puts the question back to her, though he suspects they have the same answer.

He stops. Sighs. This isn’t what he wanted to talk about at all. This isn’t what he wanted to talk about when he brought up how startling, how strange this thing had been between them at the beginning. He meant to talk about how they have adjusted to it and now he knows that Brienne not only saw him at his weakest, but she was him at his weakest.

They switch back into their own bodies, and it is easier somehow, to carry on. He looks at her and she looks like Brienne is supposed to and she will meet his eyes and they continue walking the grounds, continue debriefing the parts of the day that the other person had missed, not that there is much to catch up on. Today they were barely each other at all, at least until they met up in the evening.

They are almost back to where they started, almost back to the door that will lead them to the hall that branches off towards their separate bedchambers. Jaime isn’t ready to say goodnight just yet.

“I’m sorry you had to feel that. The first time it happened… I apologize.” Jaime says, meaning it. He would not wish that experience on anyone.

“There is no need to apologize,” she says.

But there is. He was a wreck. Just pain and self pity covered in his own filth. He feels sick thinking about what she must have felt…

“Jaime,” she says, jarring him from his thoughts, “I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

“There is no need to apologize—”

“We both know it happened because—”

“It happened.” Jaime says, ending that sentence, that thought, here and now, “It happened and it is not your fault. I never blamed you. Never.”

“That is… kind of you,” she says, still looking troubled.

“Where is this coming from?” Jaime asks, concerned somewhere along the way he implied that he blamed her, that he held what happened that night against her, and he doesn’t. He didn’t. Even right after it happened he did not blame her.

“I… miss my hand whenever I’m in your body. I wish I didn’t, but I do.” It comes out like a shameful confession, though she need not be ashamed.

“You get used to it,” Jaime says truthfully, “Not completely… but it’s not like it was.”

“Every time it happens I catch myself trying to use my sword hand and I know it’s not the same… I know it’s not the same because I get to go back to my own body and…”

“Brienne, even if we were to string together all of the times this has happened, how many days total have you been in my body? Five? Seven? Surely not more than ten. You were there right after it happened. How well did I fare at the start? You don’t have to feel guilty about any part of this,” Jaime says firmly, as he gestures between them the way they do to mean this thing that happens, “Not a single part.”

“Nor do you.”

Jaime scoffs, “I beg to differ.”

“You know I know _that_ was an accident—”

“Not that. Well, not only that,” Jaime looks up at the night sky, clouds block the stars from view, “There are many things I wish you did not have to experience through my eyes. Times I would give anything to keep you from being in my place… And for that I apologize.”

Brienne holds very still as she chooses her words carefully, “You do not have to apologize for the way she treated you.”

“You were there,” Jaime says, as the horror of it, the shame takes hold and makes his throat tight, “You know I do.”

“Jaime…”

“Every day I worry about what she might have said to you. What she might have tried to do to you…” he hadn’t realized how stressed he was about this until he started talking but now that he’s talking about it he is alarmed by how upset he is. And Brienne doesn’t need to be the one is his body to know this. He is distraught in a way he hasn’t been since that day she returned him to his bedchambers in King’s Landing and gave him permission to grieve. His voice is very small, “I apologize.”

“Jaime I… I don’t know half of what happened between the two of you. Truly I don’t. I don’t know, and you don’t have to tell me. But whatever it is you are most afraid of…” Brienne’s voice fades into the dark and it is a moment before she decides how to continue, “I will not pretend she was kind to you when I was there with her. She was not. Her words were dismissive and cruel. But Jaime… it was not me she was treating that way.”

“In that moment it was.”

“You are I are the only souls in the world who knew that.”

This does not make him feel better. “I would never choose for you to have to be me then—”

“I know,” she tells him, “Jaime, you do not need to apologize for the way she treated you.”

He still feels compelled to, but he holds his tongue, trying to take her words to heart. He wants to apologize to her for putting her in the same room as Cersei until the end of his days and he wants to apologize for what happened at the Dragonpit and he wants to apologize to her for his body in general. The more he walks around in hers, the more aware he is of his own, of all the ways she must find it lacking, and not just how he knows she finds his golden hand cumbersome. He is older than her. Older and more broken. He can find no other word for it. He carries things his body that he… he’s not even sure when they sewed their way into his bones but he is aware of them now. She must feel it. Every time she is the one is his body he hopes… he hopes it is not too much of a burden on her.

*

They’ve drawn an audience today. Their practising has not gone unnoticed, or so it seems. Today they have an audience. An audience that doesn’t want to see them spar with tourney sword. Not when Valyrian Steel is an option.

And it’s not that they haven’t been practising with their actual swords. They have been. Frequently. But when they spar, when they really spar, they still use the blunted blades. But perhaps it is time…

Brienne is looking at him, silently asking him if he thinks they are ready.

“I trust you,” he says.

“And I trust you.”

Jaime grins as he draws his sword as she does the same, “So let’s dance.”

The people of Winterfell who are gathered around to watch will tell stories about what they see this day to their grandchildren.

Not one of them will ever know even half of what made the fight so remarkable.

*

They are sitting across from one another and they’re eating supper when Tyrion slides into the seat beside him and asks who won their little match that afternoon. Jaime and Brienne share a glance that they have to look away from because the real answer is so ridiculous, so complicated, that they’ve long since stopped trying to keep track because when he is her and she is him and they are still both on their feet and still fighting, what difference does it make who wins? Not when the balance will shift over and over and without their control and all they can do is fight and learn and fight and gods, maybe neither of them will ever know if they were the victor, but how could they both not be when they fight like that?

“It was a draw if I ever saw one,” Jaime offers once he has composed himself.

“That sounds like something the loser would say,” Tyrion replies, “Lady Brienne? Care to weigh in?”

“It is impolite to gloat in any case,” she says, “But it was a draw.”

“If you say so,” Tyrion says with another glance between the two of them, “It was quite a sight to see, or so I am told.”

“It certainly was,” Jaime agrees, not taking his eyes off Brienne. He’s still thinking about it. Can still feel the way they moved together, the way he was him and then he was her and it didn’t matter which of their bodies he was in, which sword he held. He was unstoppable. She was unstoppable. The two of them locked in endless perfect beautiful combat.

Neither of them have ever been better than they were today. He can’t wait to get back out there tomorrow and be even more extraordinary.

He can tell by the way she’s looking at him, trying not to smile too much but failing magnificently, that she’s thinking about it too. About him. About how incredible they are together.

It happens.

It happens and he’s looking at himself looking at her and feeling the warmth in her chest as her heart pounds pleasantly at the sight of him, the rush of affection that mirrors his own but is distinctly hers at the same time. He watches the expression on his face shift to something so Brienne he hopes Tyrion doesn’t notice as she sits with the immensity of the love for her that his body can barely contain as she holds his gaze for just a moment before she has to look away.

It should make it easier to talk about, knowing that they both feel it. Knowing beyond a doubt that the love that lives in his body lives in hers as well. Every time they switch bodies they feel it. Every time, but at times like this it is so obvious it hurts.

That should make it easier to talk about, but it doesn’t.

It really doesn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

A bath. A hot bath. Jaime is very nearly beside himself at the mere thought. But it is no mere thought. There is a tub in his room and it’s full of scalding water and he has been looking forward to this immensely.

He lowers himself into the water and resolves to soak in this perfect heat until the world ends.

Then he is outside.

More specifically, Brienne is outside, watching Sansa and Arya speak to one another a little ways away. But this is now Jaime’s problem because he is outside. At night. In Winterfell. And it’s snowing and windy and it is freezing. And neither Sansa nor Arya look to be in a big hurry to move their conversation indoors and this should be Brienne’s problem but it is not. It is Jaime’s problem because right now he is Brienne and Brienne is outside and Brienne is in his body in the most welcome bath he’s had in a long time and he doesn’t even get to be in his body to enjoy it.

Jaime has weathered the chaos of this thing that happens as well as he can, but this, this feels like a step too far. He pulls Brienne’s cloak more securely around her body and tries not embody the sulk he feels in the very depths of his soul at the fact that right now his body is submerged in almost painfully hot water and yet through forces unknown Jaime is here. Outside. In the north. At night.

He prays for a quick return to his body, please gods just let him get back to his body. Even if the water is merely still hot, that would be enough to satiate him. Even warm. Warm water would be enough, well maybe not enough, but better than nothing. Better than this. But the moments keep going by and he is still out here getting snowed on.

Jaime is in a real mood when Arya and Sansa wrap up whatever was so important to discuss here and now, but he buries it and keeps his face neutral as Sansa thanks Brienne for her patience and wishes her a good night.

Brienne might insist on walking Sansa back inside but Jaime is frozen to the bone and irritated at the world at large so he nods and accepts her dismissal for the evening with no word of protest.

It is late. Jaime should go straight to Brienne’s room to wait for them to switch back, but he does not.

Instead of turning left down the hall that leads to Brienne’s room, Jaime turns right and walks the hall to his own room, knocking on the door with several urgent raps of his knuckles.

“I’m not dressed to receive company.”

“It’s me,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

He hears footsteps and then the door creaks open and he strides inside, heading straight for the tub and dipping his hand into it to confirm what he already knows as Brienne says, “It’s cold now.”

He moans with regret as he looks over at her. She is standing in front of the door she has wisely closed behind her and she is still him and she looks clean and warm and content, wrapped in clothes that look so cozy he’s annoyed all over again that he spent the last hour outside in the elements.

“I stayed in the bath as long as I could.”

Jaime sighs as he shakes the snow out of her hair, “I know.”

Silence joins them in the room. There’s a weird intimacy at play that Jaime doesn’t know what to do with. Brienne has spent the last hour as him in a bath, and now here they are alone in his bedchambers in the middle of the night standing in front of a fire and they’re in each other’s bodies in a very literal and very strange sense and did anyone see him as Brienne coming here?

“I should…” but he trails off. Go? Regardless of where he goes, for the next little while he is here and there.

“Stay for a while,” Brienne says, “If anyone saw you on your way here the damage is done. And I’ve barely seen you the last two days.”

This is true. Brienne has been so busy lately that she and Jaime have barely crossed paths. He’s spent more time as Brienne than with her these last two days.

The room he was given is small and not designed with the intention of entertaining company. There’s a single chair by the fire and the bed. Brienne offers him the chair and Jaime points out that such acts of chivalry are not necessary.

“You were just out in the snow,” Brienne says, “Do you really want to sit on the bed you have to sleep in like that?”

Jaime concedes to her logic and takes the chair, though he turns it so it’s on the other side of the fireplace and he can see her sit on the bed. He wonders what this scene would look like to someone else. The Kingslayer in his bedclothes, entertaining the Maid of Tarth in his bedchamber so late in the evening. He sighs as he removes her heavy cloak and lays it in front of the fire to dry before sitting down. Part of Jaime wishes it was half as scandalous as it seems.

“You know,” Brienne says thoughtfully, “This has happened so many times and I’m still not used to having a—”

“Brienne!”

“A beard! I was going to say a beard!” she protests and Jaime believes her but he’s already beyond recovery, his whole body shaking with mirth.

Once he’s calmed down, and Brienne looks marginally less mortified he says, “I could shave it off if you—”

“No,” she stops him at once, not even letting him finish the thought, “It’s your body.” 

*

They talk for a long while. Long enough for the fire to dwindle. Long enough that they are well past the point of the conversation where they talk about what the other may have missed and what they will need to know for tomorrow. The thing that happens is still a running thread through their conversation, but tonight when it comes up they find themselves pondering their experiences beyond the simple logistics of getting through their days.

It is a rare pleasure to be allowed so much time alone together. They have been careful. They have been discreet. Everyone suspects there is something between them regardless, but they have never done something so bold as to sit in his bedchamber and converse.

*

“All things considered,” Brienne says much later, as she stands, once again in her body as she moves to return to her own room, “It’s not as different as people would have you believe.”

“No,” Jaime agrees from where he now sits on his bed, “It is not.”

*

Jaime refuses to accept that he is waking up, that he will have to get up and put on Brienne’s armour and go to where it was Brienne is supposed to be at the crack of dawn, but even as he savours the sanctuary of heat that the furs provide he takes note of the hunger he’s feeling.

He yawns. He needs to get up so he’ll have plenty of time to find Brienne a decent meal. He doesn’t want her to be hungry all day because he couldn’t brave the transition from bed to open air.

He’s still mostly asleep as he tries to take stock of anything else he can do to make Brienne’s day a little more comfortable. He is a visitor here, here in her body, the least he can do is make sure he’s not making things worse for her. Four days ago he took a piece of her armour down to the smith to have it reshaped. It had gotten banged up somehow and was digging into her arm where it shouldn’t. It was four days ago and he’s still thinking of the way she looked at him when she noticed the adjustment. He assured her it was no trouble. She was thankful regardless.

Jaime opens his bleary eyes with great reluctance, gods it is early, and it is still a few hazy thoughts later that he realizes that they are in fact his eyes he is looking through.

He’s not in Brienne’s body this morning.

He frowns as he continues to wake up, continues to become increasingly aware of his own body, his own hunger, his own needs.

Brienne finds him where he is breaking his fast not long after and sits down to join him.

*

“The next time I intend to bathe,” Jaime says bitterly, dusting snow from Brienne’s armour as he strides into his own room with only the briefest of knocks on the door first, “We are bathing together.”

“Jaime!” Brienne says, instinctively moving to cover her body as she glances to make sure the door is closed, which is pointless because the body in the once hot, now merely tepid, water, is _his. _Again.

“We’ve shared a bath before,” Jaime points out.

“I know but—”

“Half of Winterfell already thinks we’re…” Jaime adds, “And the other half is taking bets on when we will.”

Brienne sinks further down into the tub, “I know.”

Jaime paces as he laments missing out on the hot bath once again until Brienne says, “Pass me that towel.”

He does. She left it hanging over the chair by the fire and it is so pleasantly warm to his touch that he wants to cry that he will not be the one to feel it on his clean skin.

*

“Tell her,” Tyrion implores him.

“She knows,” Jaime says.

“You told her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then she doesn’t know,” Tyrion says flatly, “Jaime, you have to tell her.”

“The situation is…”

“Complicated. Yes I know. You’ve said. Several times in fact. You still have to tell her. Preferably before we all die here. Preferably before I have to sit through yet another meal with the two of you gazing loudly across the table at each other while I try and eat in peace.”

*

They’ve just left a meeting. Jaime let Brienne leave ahead of him today. She is in his body, and it is not good for them to be seen exclusively in each other’s company. Discreet. They need to be discreet. Even if everyone already suspects something is going on between them. Even if everyone is wrong about the exact nature of what is going on between them. So he waits for her, looking like him, to leave the room first before following and then there is a dagger pressing between the plates of the armour he wears to his ribcage. Brienne’s ribcage.

“I can explain—”

“I know what it means to wear another’s face, Lannister,” Arya hisses.

“It’s not what you think—” Jaime says as she jabs the dagger more firmly against him, “I can explain.”

“Explain then.”

But before he can Brienne, in his body, comes back around the corner and assesses the situation in a heartbeat, “Arya please, you have to listen to us.”

“Why should I listen to you? To either of you. When you’re doing this.”

“It’s not something we do,” Jaime protests, “It’s something that happens.”

“Something that happens,” Arya repeats without inflection, “You’re wearing each other’s faces. That doesn’t just happen. I know first hand how much it does not just happen.”

“Arya, I swear to you, we have no control over this. We never have. It happens. It just happens,” Brienne says, “And we’re on the same side now. We were in the same meeting just now. Arya, think, what would he have to gain?”

“Your trust.”

“He has it. He has had it for ages. Arya please, neither of us has any control over this. Neither of us has done anything but uphold the oath I swore to your mother.”

“He could—”

“But I haven’t,” Jaime replies, “And if I was going to harm your family further I would not have come north to do so. Not when, you so rightly point out, I have had ample opportunities provided to me.”

“This was happening before you got here?”

“Yes,” Jaime and Brienne answer together.

“How long?”

Jaime looks to Brienne. He’s not going to be the one to answer this question. There’s too much at stake. If Brienne needs to lie he will back her up. But Brienne answers it truthfully, “Years.”

The dagger jabs against his flesh with more aggression as she repeats, “Years?”

“Years.”

“And you— And he—”

“Have done nothing but act to keep you safe. To keep your family safe. That’s what we’re still doing.”

“If I ever abuse this you have my permission to kill me,” Jaime adds.

“I don’t need your permission to kill you,” Arya snaps.

“But you have it,” Jaime insists.

Arya pauses.

“To trust me is to trust him,” Brienne says, like this absurdly complicated situation is in fact this simple. And they have no control over it, so it is pure coincidence that Brienne speaks the first half of the sentence through his voice and the second half through her own.

Jaime takes in the scene from where Brienne had been seeing it unfold, watches Arya register what has just happened in front of her. He is relieved to see her pull the dagger away from Brienne’s torso. Not all the way, but enough.

“And you trust him,” Arya says. There’s an unmistakable edge to the word trust. Like there’s something else in the word too.

“I do.”

Arya sheathes her dagger. Jaime takes a step forward. Brienne turns to face Arya directly.

“Does it happen when you’re training?” Arya asks.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

*

Arya joins them in the practise yard the following morning. Jaime had said they would be out there at dawn, hoping to dissuade her from showing up, but Arya is waiting for them when they arrive.

She studies them as they approach, looking between the two of them several times over before she addresses Brienne first. Correctly.

Brienne wishes her a good morning.

Arya returns the greeting and draws her sword.

*

“You should talk to Bran about it,” Arya says as she ducks around Jaime’s swing of Brienne’s arm.

“He’s already spoken to us.”

“About this?” she asks, stepping between them at the very moment Brienne and Jaime switch bodies.

“Yes,” Brienne replies, reorienting herself just in time to block Arya’s attack, “He knows. He does not know why it occurs.”

“Or he wouldn’t tell you why,” Arya says, turning her attention to Jaime’s right side, but Brienne steps to cover him as Jaime turns and presses his offence.

“Either way,” Jaime replies, as his sword meets Arya’s, “Even if there is a reason, it hardly matters in the grand scheme of things.”

“Which is?”

“It won’t matter to the dead which of us is holding which sword when they attack,” Jaime says, blocking again and then stepping back as Arya turns directly into Brienne’s waiting strike, her sword rising to Arya’s throat as they all stop.

Arya yields with a grin, then asks, “Can we go again?”

After that Arya finds reason to join them in the yard as often as she can.

*

Arya all but appears beside him in the hall as Jaime walks towards the room where Brienne is supposed to be, “Does anyone else know?”

“You’re not even supposed to know,” Jaime says, keeping Brienne’s voice as low as he can.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Arya says. She’s got her dagger out again, but the way she’s fiddling with it makes Jaime certain she’s not aware she’s doing it.

“Good.”

“I won’t tell Sansa.”

“I— Thank you.”

He turns to look down at Arya, understanding the trust she is giving him in this moment. She smirks at him, at his sincerity, “I like you better when you’re like this.”

“Everyone does.”

It’s a throwaway remark, self-deprecating and undeniably true. He’s spent enough time as Brienne to appreciate the respect she has earned and to know it is nothing like the way people treat him. He is not expecting Arya to reply, but she does. Right before they get to the door Arya says, “Brienne doesn’t.”

*

It becomes a bit of a game. Arya will catch his eye when he is inhabiting Brienne’s body and give him a look. The _I know it’s you_ look. And when she is right Jaime will give her the slightest of nods in return.

The thing is, she isn’t always right. More than once Jaime has watched her give Brienne the same look when Brienne is entirely Brienne, and then watch Brienne reply with a shadow of a shake of her head.

*

“Arya asked if I’d had an opportunity to kill Cersei,” Brienne tells him as soon as they are alone together. They are in their own bodies tonight.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth.”

Of course Brienne would tell her the truth. Truthful truthful Brienne.

“She needn’t ask you to justify…”

“It is not unreasonable for her to ask,” Brienne replies, “Even if she did not like my answer at first.”

“Which was?”

“That I had more than enough opportunities,” she says, “But then I explained that even if I was compelled to act on them, which I was not, but even if I was, doing so would have been an unacceptable risk, putting both her and Sansa in considerable danger.”

“She accepted that answer?”

“Reluctantly,” Brienne says with a sigh, “But it wasn’t my choice to make. Not then. Not now. I believe that Jaime. You know I do.”

“Do you think it is mine?” Jaime asks.

“Only if you want it to be.” A non-answer if he ever heard one, and perhaps Brienne senses his disquiet because she continues, “Jaime, listen to me. If you ever decide it is your choice to make, a choice you want or need to make, I will support you. If you choose to leave her to whatever end she will find without you beside her, I will stay with you. If you want to go back to King’s Landing and kill her yourself, I will come with you so you don’t have to face her alone. If you never want to see her again I will make sure she never gets within reach of you. And Jaime, if you ever choose to go back to her, I will let you.”

The last once cleaves him in two. She says it like she’s thought about this. Like it’s possible. Like it’s an actual outcome of this that she has considered. “You would… I would never— Why would I— You would?”

“I do not want you to, and I will try my hardest to convince you not to,” Brienne says, looking right at him as she says this, “But it is your choice to make.”

The thought of going back to Cersei. The thought of him going back to Cersei and Brienne having to be him as he travels south, walking away from her, makes him want to die. Because he knows she would honour his wishes. She would do it. She would let him go, even as it broke her, and then she would help him walk the distance back to—

“Do not let me,” Jaime says, “I will not go back to her, but if I try, you must not let me.”

“It’s not my place to—”

“It is,” Jaime insists, “It is. And it is my choice, and I’m making it now. You must stop me. You must.”

“I can not do this for you,” Brienne says, sad but firm in her conviction, and he feels something wrench apart inside him that she once swore to act as his executioner but she will not agree to this,“It is, and always will be, your choice to make.”

*

_Are they ever going to acknowledge it?_ Jaime wonders as they switch bodies and the way she feels about him is so undeniable he can’t believe they still walk around like this, knowing and feeling this, and say nothing, _nothing_ about it.

Because the way he feels about her is just as obvious. He knows it is. He knows his love for Brienne is all over everything he does, everything he feels. All day. Every day. So every time she’s the one in his body, she’s aware…

They switch back and sure enough, his body is bursting with love and desire and yes, it is complicated but his body, his heart does not care.

Even with this thing that happens making it strange, when he is in his body and she is in hers, he wants to kiss her. So fucking much.

*

It is very late at night, or very early in the morning. Either way it is dark and the castle is still. Most everyone is asleep. Good. Let them rest when they can. The dead are coming. The dead will be here any day now, and who knows if there will ever be the opportunity to rest again.

He’s staring up at the ceiling without seeing it and then he’s looking at a wall. A different wall from the ones that surround his own body.

Brienne is lying awake too.

He snaps back into his own body and lies with that information. The news they got today was not good. The approaching army is close and bigger than they dared fear. At the time Brienne had barely reacted. Simply nodded and went about her day. Jaime wishes they’d had more time to talk today. Their evening conversation had been cut short before it even began. Plans needed to be made. Preparations finalized…

There is a knock on his door.

It’s her. Brienne is standing in front of him when he opens the door. She’s not wearing her armour. Neither is he. She’s thrown her cloak and boots on, but she’s wearing the tunic and breeches she usually sleeps in. She’s holding a lit torch in her sword hand. He has had dreams that are variants upon this theme.

“Come with me,” she says. It’s not quite a question and not quite a command. He’s had dreams like this as well.

He pulls on his boots and his cloak and follows her.

Brienne leads him deeper down into the castle than he has ventured, to a room he has never been in. She lights several torches on the walls.

Large stone tubs. Smaller than the ones at Harrenhal, but the effect is similar, though there are more tubs to choose from here. The hot springs Winterfell is built on provide more hot water than Jaime’s most optimistic dreams. It is late enough that they are the only ones here.

“You’re sure?” Jaime asks.

“You said you wanted a bath.”

Jaime works at the laces of his bedclothes and tosses them to the floor as fast as he is able. When he sinks himself into the scalding water up to his neck he is so busy moaning with pleasure as the heat takes him that he doesn’t see Brienne submerge herself into the adjacent tub.

“Better?” Brienne asks.

All Jaime can do is groan back.

They switch bodies and the moment it happens Jaime laughs in triumph, loudly exclaiming that he has finally outsmarted the powers that seem determined to keep him from a bath of hot water.

He can hear Brienne’s exasperated expression, even though his eyes are closed. He opens his eyes and looks over to where she sits in the tub beside him.

As he looks at his body, his naked body that Brienne is currently occupying, it strikes him that Brienne is naked too.

Jaime raises her hands above the surface of the water where she will be able to see them.

She rolls her eyes, “Jaime, I trust you.”

He lowers his arms until her hands are just under the surface of the water, still held out in front of him, still where she can clearly see them, “Even when I’m… when you’re…”

“How many times have we switched back and forth now?” Brienne asks like this matter is of little importance, “If you wanted to touch my body you’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

“Brienne I have never, would never, _ever_, lay a finger on you when we’re like this. I—”

“I know Jaime,” she cuts him off, “I know. I do. I mean what I say when I say that I trust you.”

Silence for a moment.

“I do want to though,” Jaime says, “Touch you that is. But not when we’re like this. But when I’m in my body and you’re in yours… Brienne…”

“Could we not have this conversation right now?” She isn’t looking at him. She’s looking rather pointedly at the opposite wall.

“Because you don’t want to discuss it or because you don’t want to discuss it when,” he gestures between the two of them as he watches her glance over at him, “We’re like this.”

“The second one,” Brienne says after a long pause, but Jaime takes her admission there is something to discuss as progress.

*

But they don’t switch back as they soak in the tubs. They don’t switch back as she yawns in his body and they tease each other about whose sleepiness is getting the better of her. She claims it is the tiredness in his body that is making her yawn. He has his doubts. Before long they are both yawning and it does not matter.

She walks him to her room because right now he is the one who will be sleeping there.

Jaime wants to ask her to stay with him, but it’s not something he should do now. He can’t very well stand here in Brienne’s doorway and ask her to spend the night in her own room with him. She said she did not want to discuss this while they are like this. He respects that. And he understands that.

So when she wishes him a good night he wishes her one as well.

And when the door closes between them he tries not to think about the other scenarios in which they could spend the night in the other’s bed.

*

After a few hours of sleep Jaime is wide awake. He is in his own body and he is awake. The dead will be here within a day or two, any time really. Any moment war will be upon them.

There is so much to do.

*

He and Brienne busy themselves with the final preparations. There is so much to do and they do as much of it as they can together. They shift in and out of each other’s bodies as they work, as they survey the grounds, check everything they can check, as they speak with the men they will be defending the living with.

Jaime still asks to speak with her during a quiet moment in the late afternoon. He has found himself in his own body and they are between tasks so he asks to speak with her. He asks to speak with her exactly the way he did on those days when they spent most of their time apart, exactly the way he did when he had some important information of what she missed when he was the one in her body. 

Brienne questions him with a look. They have been together all day. Rarely out of arms reach from one another, much less out of earshot. He does not have news.

Jaime does not have news but he needs to talk to her. Now. He’s not even sure what he’s going to say but he knows he has to say something because any time now the dead will arrive and it will be too late.

*

Brienne follows him as he leads them away from anyone who might overhear them, further and further they walk. Winterfell is a flurry of activity today. There are too many people around.

Finally, finally they are alone.

He turns to her where they stand on one of the walls they have walked many times before. His heart is pounding in his chest. His own chest. The snow makes her eyes look so impossibly blue he has to brace himself to speak. But this is the moment. He must speak.

“Brienne… I—”

Jaime stops. Jaime stops because his second word came from her lips and not his own and he’s staring at himself. He’s staring at himself and it is Brienne’s heart that he feels pounding within him and—

He curses.

Of all the times. Of all the times for this to happen.

“Jaime…”

She knows. She knows what he was going to say. What he wants to talk about. What he wants to do. But he can’t do it now. He can’t make her listen to him speak this through her voice any more than he can look into his own face and say what he needs to say.

*

They stand there and wait. They look out across the grounds in silence and they wait.

And they wait.

And hope.

They hope that they will switch back before it is too late.

*

Someone is calling for them already. They are needed.

They do not have time to stand here wait for them to switch back.

There is so much to do.

*

Still they linger, just for a moment, but it is as long a moment as he has ever experienced, the two of them standing there in each other’s bodies, not quite looking at each other but unable to stop themselves from trying to see the other beneath the surface.

The truth rings through her body as Jaime know it must in his own.

“Brienne…”

“Jaime…”

Jaime wanted to tell her before it was too late, but this will have to be enough.

She knows.

She knows.

And he knows.

That will have to be enough.

*

There is so much to do right until there is nothing to do but wait.

Tyrion is the one who suggests a drink.

And Jaime, back in his body but nowhere near Brienne at this moment, could use one.


	6. Chapter 6

He and Tyrion are settled in by a fire, drinks in hand, when it happens. She’s walking down a hall with Podrick. He does not know where she is intending to go but Jaime knows where he is.

He considers turning her in the right direction to come find him, but he doesn’t. She knows Winterfell far better than him. She will know where he is. She will know where to find him.

She has to be the one to make that choice when they switch back.

*

Brienne arrives with Podrick in tow shortly after Jaime returns to his body.

He leaps to his feet to welcome her to their little gathering at the end of the world.

*

He raises his goblet and suddenly finds himself without it, looking across the circle at himself, at her being the one in his body holding it. She catches his eye and toasts him with the smallest of gestures before she raises the goblet to his lips.

But when they switch back a few moments later it is clear that she barely drank any of it, if she even took a sip at all.

By the time the conversation shifts to the deeds of the people in the room he and Brienne have switched back into their proper bodies and he is glad of this because then it comes up that Brienne is not a knight.

He is more grateful than he’s ever been that he is the one in his body as he puts down his goblet and draws his sword.

*

He invites her to kneel.

She looks unsure. Afraid. But he will wait as long as it takes for her to realize he is absolutely serious.

He invites her to kneel again.

When she does he silently prays to any god who will listen to the likes of him that they both stay wholly themselves for the next few moments before he speaks.

*

She is Lady Brienne of Tarth, in mind and body, down on one knee in front of him.

He is Ser Jaime Lannister, in mind and body, as he touches her shoulders with his sword and says the words.

Then she is Ser Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

And when she looks up at him Jaime does not need to inhabit her body to share in what she is feeling.

*

As they return to their seats Jaime is desperately relieved Brienne got to experience this moment only as herself. There is no one he has ever met, no one he has ever heard of, more deserving of being made a knight. No one he would wish the honour on above her. He is glad this thing that happens did not take her out of her body for even a moment of it.

But somewhere deep in his chest, part of him aches at the thought of getting to be knighted by her. Of kneeling before her as she says the words to him…

Perhaps… perhaps one day he will be worthy of such an honour.

*

They look out across the field as the dead approach.

He wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loves, Jaime thinks as he holds Oathkeeper at the ready in Brienne’s sword hand as Brienne stands beside him holding his sword in the only hand he has left, but it won’t be like this.

It won’t be like this.

*

They blur in and out of their bodies on the battlefield and it is war as Jaime has never known it before. The horde of the dead is relentless. They do not tire. They do not stop. They do not strategize beyond attack and attack and attack.

*

A dragon flies overhead and unleashes flames upon the dead not far from where they stand. Jaime feels the heat before it really hits him, turning away so he does’t have to see what follows. His head is remarkably clear, his body unaffected as he turns his attention to the dead who are on their left. But then he understands.

To his left Brienne is in his body. She flinches away from the sound, from the heat, in a way she wouldn’t in her own body. Jaime spins to cover her, to cover his own body’s involuntary reaction. Brienne is moving again but she’s out of step. 

Jaime stabs and then kicks a dead man aside to buy himself the time to check on her. He should have told her, but it didn’t occur to him that she wouldn’t fear the dragons the way he does. How is her body so calm in the presence of such flames?

“Dragonfire,” Brienne says, looking at him. The fear on his face is his own, but the surprise is all Brienne. He should have told her. The last thing they need is for either of them to be caught off guard out here.

“Dragonfire,” he answers. He should have told her. He has seen so many men burn…

She nods and then steps to take out a wight that was getting too close to where Jaime stands in front of her.

*

The next time a dragon soars overhead he is in his own body and Brienne calls to him. Tells him to get behind her, that she’ll cover him. She’s already moving, rotating so she is the one facing the bulk of the attacking army as Jaime covers her back, facing away from—

The sound still makes his whole body tense, but he does not freeze up the way he usually would as he feels the wave of heat, imagines the light of a hundred or more engulfed in flames.

“Jaime!” Brienne shouts. He understands it to be a question.

“Brienne,” he answers.

*

They call each other’s names with no regard for whose body they are in, long past the point of caring if anyone overhears. In the chaos, amongst all the terror, if anyone lives through the night to see the sun rise, if anyone lives long enough to remember any of this, the least of anyone’s concerns will be the battlecries of the Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth.

*

It is not beautiful. It is not a dance. It is far from perfect. They fight for every moment, for every additional breath they get to draw, for every step they take, for every dead man they slay.

It is endless.

Endless.

*

Her body is as exhausted as his is but he will not allow her to falter when he is in the one in her body. He will not allow her to falter when he is in his own body. She will not fall on his watch. It is that simple. They will not fail.

No harm will come to her.

No harm will come to her.

No harm will come to her.

*

Hours stretch beyond comprehension and the dead do not stop, so Jaime and Brienne do not stop. All they can do is figure out a way to stay alive. Moment by moment. Step by step. Swing by swing. His body. Her body. It does not matter which they find themselves in. They fight. However they can, however they can manage.

They stay together.

And they stay alive.

*

There are times they barely register the shift as they fight back to back. It makes little difference which way Jaime finds himself facing. Left or right. East or West. North or South. Whichever way he is facing there is a sword in his hand and an army that wants them dead in front of him and Brienne beside him.

Other times he is so glad to find himself in her body that he shouts, her voice cracking under his strained relief. He may be on the verge of collapse but he can not, will not, falter if he is in her body.

The dead pile up around them.

No harm will come to her.

None.

*

They get separated. Jaime does not know how it happens, just that it does. An ambush and they were overrun, and there was only one way to go, but somehow they did not arrive together.

Jaime screams her name in the night as he hacks his way through the dead men who surround him, but all he can hear are the sounds of war, the sounds of death, not her. Not Brienne.

It is dark and Jaime is alone. Jaime is surrounded. There are too many of them. He will fight until he can not, but there are too many of them.

At least he is in his own body.

He doesn’t even finish the thought before he is in hers.

*

Brienne’s throat is raw in a way that it wasn’t before and the panic in her body is exactly his own as he screams for her. He fucked up and now she is in his body and overrun by the dead and Jaime screams her name again and again as he looks around to get his bearings, he has to find her. He has to find her—

*

Jaime is back in his body and there are more dead men at his feet than there were when he left. Brienne was fighting for him with everything she had and he is grateful for her efforts but he is more grateful to be back in his own body. Let him be the one to die. He has to be the one to die—

*

He’s got two hands on the hilt of a sword as he slashes through every dead man he can reach and he yells because he can’t be Brienne right now. She has to live. She has to live. In the distance he hears his own voice screaming his name—

*

In his body once again he keeps shouting, keeps crying out for Brienne and over the sounds, the brutal sounds of blood and bone and steel and death he hears her answering. His name and hers calling for each other in the dark until somehow, impossibly, she is once again beside him.

There’s blood on her face, on her armour, blood that he just has time to understand is not hers as they fall into step with one another and continue to fight.

Together.

*

This is only the beginning.

The night is so very long.

But no harm will come to her. He knows this. He knows this in his bones, the undeniable truth of it keeping him fighting long past when he would have otherwise fallen.

And when they switch bodies, every time they switch he feels that same truth surging through Brienne’s body. She knows that no harm will come to him. She will not allow it. The very essence of her has decided that they will survive this. Together.

And this is how they know.

This is how they fight.

Knowing that no harm will come to them.

The dead do not stand a chance.

*

When it is over. When it is over and they know it is done there is a long moment when they just stand in the shock of everything.

He is in his body. And she is in hers.

And they are alive.

*

Brienne speaks first, is able to move first, sheathing her sword as she beckons him to follow.

He follows her back towards the castle.

*

Brienne is beyond exhausted, all but dragging herself towards her room. If she feels half as worn out as he does she’s showing remarkable energy. He could fall face-first to the stone floor and happily sleep where he lands.

They turn a corner, slowly, and a young girl runs up to them. “Ser Brienne! Is there anything you need?”

The girl starts listing items she was no doubt tasked with asking people if they require, but Brienne cuts her off.

“Just a bucket of hot water. And soap if you can spare it. Please.”

“Of course Ser.”

The girl takes off running down the hall away from them, making it even more clear just how slowly he and Brienne are moving. They’re both half asleep already.

He wishes to be in her body once again. That way he could clean off enough of the blood and grime from her to not dirty her sheets while he sends her to sleep in his bed, in his body. Let her pass out in his body for the time being. He will happily sacrifice the cleanliness of his sheets if it means giving her more rest.

He thinks of all of the ways to suggest that she sleep as him and leave the tedium of cleaning the gore from her to him the whole walk back, but they do not switch bodies. Not even for a moment. They do not switch bodies at all and then they arrive at her door.

“Let me help,” he says, his voice is hoarse, “It will be faster if I help you remove your armour.”

He’s expecting her to argue or protest. To decline his help. To say she can do it herself.

She does not.

*

He’s undoing the third strap on her armour when there is a knock on the door. Brienne is the one who moves to answer it first, leaving Jaime to place the piece of armour he just removed over by the stand.

“Water for washing Ser,” the girl says, “Is there anything else you need before I leave you?”

“Thank you. Another bucket of hot water,” Brienne says, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble!” the girl insists. She can’t be older than one-and-ten. Jaime wonders just how long she was cooped up in the crypt before she was given the task of tending to those returning from battle as she scampers off out of sight.

Brienne picks up the bucket and places it in front of the fire.

“We could call for a bath,” Jaime says as he resumes removing the plates of armour Brienne can not easily reach herself.

“It will take too long,” Brienne says, “A pail of hot water is all I need tonight.”

“Then why ask for another?”

“For you.”

*

She’s down to the tunic she wears under the metal plating and she’s making similar progress removing his own armour when there’s another knock on the door.

“The water is outside!” the girl calls through the door as Jaime moves across the room to answer it. By the time he crosses the small room and opens the door the girl is gone. There is just a bucket of water sitting on the floor.

“Thank you,” Brienne says.

“She’s not there,” Jaime replies as he picks up the water and sets it just inside the room to close the door behind him. Smart girl, he thinks as he brings the bucket and sets it beside the other one in front of the fire. She can’t answer any questions if she doesn’t see anything.

“Her discretion is admirable.”

“Quite.”

Brienne undoes the last of the straps holding his breastplate in place and removes it. When she steps back to set it aside he reaches for the straps that hold his golden hand in place and goes to work on them.

A few steps from him Brienne gingerly shrugs her way out of her tunic. When she winces Jaime looks up at her and asks if she’s hurt.

“Nothing serious,” she replies, laying the tunic over the chair and then tugging off the thin layer beneath it, leaving her upper body exposed in the firelight. His eyes skim the bruises he sees as she adds, “But you already know that.”

“I hoped,” Jaime replies as his golden hand comes free and he puts it down, “But at a point it was hard to pinpoint the pain… hard to focus on anything but—”

“I know,” she says, reaching for the washcloth floating in the bucket closest to her, “I know.”

“How is your arm?” he asks as he loosens the laces of his tunic.

“It’s nothing,” she says at once as she wipes the cloth down her face, “A bruise I think. Nothing worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says. It had happened when he was in her body, but he had returned to his so soon afterwards it had been difficult to assess the damage, and by the time he returned, the pain in her body was so high everywhere it was even harder to figure out what he had done.

“Not necessary,” she says lightly, “Though I apologize for the cut on your leg.”

“I thought that was me.”

Brienne yawns as she rinses the cloth and lifts it to her face once again, “Maybe you have two.”

Jaime tugs the tunic loose enough to pull it up and over his head and casts it aside. He does not manage to contain the grunt of pain he makes as he does so. His entire body feels like it stood between a rock and a battering ram for days on end, which isn’t so very far from the truth.

Brienne is watching him when he looks over at her, “Are you—”

“I’m fine. Just sore,” he replies as he looks down at the chunk of… something caked onto his shoulder and reaches for the cloth in the other bucket of water, “And filthy.”

“Me too,” she replies.

*

“May I?" Jaime asks when he sees Brienne reach over her shoulder, trying to wipe the dirt and sweat from her back, “May I help?”

She nods and he steps forward.

He takes the washcloth from her outstretched hand.

*

“I’ll bathe properly tomorrow,” she says as he cleans the parts of her back she can’t easily reach, “I just want to wash enough to not wake up smelling like death.”

It is as functional as it is intimate. It reminds him of when they were held captive together, how she had to clean him up more than once. How vulnerable he had felt. How fragile.

In other circumstances… in other circumstances this could be intimate in a very different way, but tonight they’re both so far beyond thought, functioning on dwindling adrenaline and the echoes of battle… not tonight. He still wants, still needs to talk to her… about the thing that they haven’t let themselves discuss. They’ve been so close, but they haven’t. But he wants to. He still wants to touch her in ways that are nothing about removing grime from her bruised skin.

But not tonight.

*

He’s nearly asleep on his feet as she moves the cloth over his body, the hot water dripping down his skin in the cloth’s wake. He had been ready to drop and sleep in his armour, but she was right. She was right to want to spend the small amount of time it takes to clean off the worst of it first. He feels better, a little better. Still sore everywhere, inside and out, but at least he’s no longer covered in war.

*

She dries herself and pulls a loose tunic over her head to sleep in as she yawns, her head falling forward as her eyes close.

“Sleep,” he says.

“Yes,” she agrees, her eyes still closed, “Sleep.”

*

He reaches for his tunic. He doesn’t care to move his discarded armour right now, but he can throw on his tunic and—

“What are you doing?” Brienne asks from the bed. She’s looking over at him, but her eyes are still half-closed.

It’s obvious what he’s doing. He’s getting dressed enough so he can leave her room in the hopes of sparing her the rumours of inviting him in in the first place.

“Stay,” she says.

He looks at her. She’s almost asleep. She’s too tired to care if anyone knows he’s here with her. He’s too tired to care if anyone cares he’s here with her. But still he needs to make sure, “You’re sure? I can leave if you prefer.”

“Stay,” she says, “Please.”

“All right.”

“There’s…” she offers.

“Thank you,” he says as he retrieves a clean tunic from where he saw her get hers earlier and pulls it over his head. It is soft and clean and most welcome.

She shifts over and he climbs into the bed beside her. She lifts the furs as he settles under them, the warmth making it hard to keep his eyes open a moment longer.

“Sleep,” she says.

“Yes,” he breathes.

Sleep.

*

He’s slept in her bed before, but never as himself. Never with her in bed beside him.

It is not as strange as it should be.

It is not strange at all.

*

The next morning, after Jaime and Brienne have woken up as themselves, and gotten dressed as themselves, and gone to find food as themselves, and done or spoken of nothing more notable than what they have to do today, Tyrion finds Jaime and says, “I went by your room last night, to make sure you were still alive.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“No, you were not. Are congratulations in order?”

“Not in the way you think.”

“Jaime.”

“It wasn’t the time or the place. We were in no state to discuss—”

“The battle was over and you were in her bedchamber and you were both alive were you not?”

*

A day passes and it does not happen. They do not switch bodies. Not even once. Not even for a moment. This hasn’t been the case since she came and found him on the road North.

*

Another day passes and it does not happen.

Then another.

And another.

*

Days continue to pass and he is Jaime, through and through, mind and body, the whole time. And all the while she is Brienne.

They have not met up at the end of the day to discuss anything important the other may have missed since before the long night. Jaime misses the ritual.

Jaime misses Brienne.

They haven’t seen very much of each other at all since that first night.

He wishes Bran were still here. Maybe Bran would know if this thing that happens has stopped for good. If Bran were here Jaime would ask him.

It occurs to Jaime that even if he could ask Bran, that even if Bran gave him an answer, it wouldn’t change anything.

No matter what, Jaime is in love with Brienne. And he still wants to kiss her. Wants to be with her. Very much. He wants to kiss her so much. Even if he knew for sure they would never switch bodies again. Even if he knew for sure that someday they would switch bodies again. Either way he loves her and he wants to kiss her and he wants to be with her.

He wants to kiss her and the only reason they didn’t kiss before seems to have resolved itself as much as they will ever understand which means…

Which means the only thing stopping them is the two of them.

*

Jaime goes to find her. He is going to find Brienne. He is going to talk to Brienne. Whatever this new thing is between them where they barely see each other all day and then don’t talk in the evening and they don’t switch bodies at all. All of this is new and he hates it and he’s going to find Brienne and he’s going to talk to her. He’s going to talk to her.

“Ser Brienne,” he says by way of greeting where he finds her, “Might I have a word with you?”

Her expression is one of concern. This is how they spoke to one another when they had important news to discuss. This is how he let her know that she had missed something important when she was in his body and he needed to inform her as quickly as possible. But she knows they have not traded places since the long night.

She excuses herself from the company and walks with him until they are outside, walking one of the familiar paths across the outer walls.

“Did it happen?” she asks once they are out of range of anyone who might overhear them, “Did we switch?”

“No,” Jaime says, “We did not.”

“But you asked to have a word.”

“Because I have something of importance to discuss with you,” he says, “Something you did not wish to discuss when we were…”

“There is no need to discuss it. I…You know how I feel about…” Brienne trails off, helpless to defend herself from the assumption he is basing this conversation on. Helpless to stop him from where he is going, “But the matter is complicated.”

“Really?” Jaime asks, “Because it seems to me this is the least complicated it has ever been between us.”

She looks at him then, fully. It feels like it has been a long time since that happened.

“Let’s see,” Jaime says, “We are no longer on opposing sides of the war, I am no longer your captive, nor are we both the captives of lesser men. We are no longer under attack from an army of dead men, or wolves or dragons, or any other horror the night threw at us. We are no longer separated by miles and miles of land, and I am here with you and nowhere near where Cersei is. Where Cersei will be dead any day now. I am here with you because I choose to be. Also, for what it’s worth, neither of us is currently fighting a bear, and we haven’t found ourselves switching bodies at random intervals in days. How could it possibly be any less complicated than that?”

“It’s only been—”

“Yes!” he exclaims like she’s proving his exact point, “It’s been a fortnight. A fortnight we could have spent together.”

“Jaime…”

“Do you know what Tyrion kept saying to me? Every time I tried to explain what was going on between us without explaining what was going on between us? He said if I hadn’t told you, you didn’t know.”

“But I do know,” she cuts in.

“Yes you do,” Jaime agrees, “But I’m going to tell you regardless.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It seems I do. I love you. Let’s start there, shall we? Get that out of the way? I know how inconvenient it is, but it’s true. I love you. And you already know that. We both know that you already know that. My body couldn’t keep that secret from you any more than yours could keep it from me. But I don’t know if you know how long it’s been. It’s been true for years, back when the thing that happens barely happened at all. I loved you then. I loved you before then, even if I did not know it yet. But I know it now. And so do you.”

“Jaime…”

“But maybe you don’t know what that means. I love you and I desire you and I want to be with you, however you’ll have me, for however long you will have me, even if it means spending the rest of our lives in the fucking North if that is where you want to be. And I don’t care if the thing that happens never happens again or if it happens tomorrow or in a moon or in ten years. It doesn’t change the rest of it. I love you and I want to be with you, if you’ll have me,” he takes a breath as he watches her, “Well?”

“Jaime… you know I…” she trails off again.

“So much of this wasn’t our choice. I didn’t choose to switch into your body any more than you chose to switch into mine. And you know as well as I do that we do not choose who we love. But this,” he reaches for her hand. She does not pull away, “What we do tonight, and tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives. That is our choice to make.”

“What if it happens again?”

“Then it will be strange when it happens,” he says, “But I don’t care. Do you?”

She considers him. Closely. They are standing so very close together.

“No,” she says, “I do not.”

*

The next time Jaime is inside Brienne it is under perfectly mundane and entirely explainable circumstances.

Perfectly mundane. Entirely explainable.

And remarkable nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> optional sequel can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925909)


End file.
